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An Amish Arrangement
Jo Ann Brown
The Farmer's Instant FamilyJeremiah Stoltzfus hopes the Amish community of Harmony Creek will provide a fresh start…until days before closing on his new farm, he finds a beautiful trespasser. Mercy Bamberger claims the property is hers, promised by her late grossdawdi. Jeremiah can't turn out the single mom and her daughter, nor can he leave. His solution: temporarily sharing the farm until ownership is settled. Once a city kid adopted by a Mennonite family, Mercy yearns to make the farm a haven for unwanted children. But living beside the handsome Amish farmer has her yearning for everything that's eluded her…laughter, love and a forever family.


The Farmer’s Instant Family
Jeremiah Stoltzfus hopes the Amish community of Harmony Creek will provide a fresh start...until days before closing on his new farm, he finds a beautiful trespasser. Mercy Bamberger claims the property is hers, promised by her late grossdawdi. Jeremiah can’t turn out the single mom and her daughter, nor can he leave. His solution: temporarily sharing the farm until ownership is settled. Once a city kid adopted by a Mennonite family, Mercy yearns to make the farm a haven for unwanted children. But living beside the handsome Amish farmer has her yearning for everything that’s eluded her...laughter, love and a forever family.
“I’m not going to relinquish my family’s farm to you or anyone else.”
“But—”
“We moved in a couple of days ago. We’re not giving it up.” Mercy crossed her arms over her chest. “It’s our home.”
Jeremiah had to select his words with care. He didn’t know if he’d be allowed to close on the farm as scheduled. He’d never heard of a person dying before property was transferred.
Until he spoke with his real estate agent and got her advice, he didn’t know what the outcome of this sticky situation would be. Mercy wasn’t going to back down. That much was clear. If their situations were reversed, he suspected he’d be as unwilling to compromise. He was unwilling to compromise.
There wasn’t room to. Either the farm was going to be his...or it wasn’t.
A pleasant warmth buzzed through him again as his gaze connected with hers. He looked away. Until he knew what was going to happen with the farm, he needed to keep his distance.
JO ANN BROWN has always loved stories with happily-ever-after endings. A former military officer, she is thrilled to have the chance to write stories about people falling in love. She is also a photographer and travels with her husband of more than thirty years to places where she can snap pictures. They have three children and live in Florida. Drop her a note at joannbrownbooks.com (http://www.joannbrownbooks.com).
An Amish Arrangement
Jo Ann Brown


www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
Then the Lord put forth His hand, and touched my mouth. And the Lord said unto me, “Behold, I have put My words in thy mouth.”
—Jeremiah 1:9
For Leon Barkley,
one of my first friends.
Together we learned softball from my dad
and basketball from your brother.
Thanks for your help with my real estate
questions and making this story possible.
A special thank-you to Tina, Melissa and Dina,
who have shared my love for the
Stoltzfus family right from the beginning
and made each book better.
Contents
Cover (#uadab930d-819b-582f-920e-34127d873cec)
Back Cover Text (#u73747302-4865-5cdc-a7a0-9e04dac55629)
Introduction (#u673a103e-d83f-51df-aca1-924d81359baa)
About the Author (#u1a2d3499-92a0-5842-81dd-e29f5ed6385e)
Title Page (#u04f3e27f-7cc3-568f-977f-8193d0667a47)
Bible Verse (#u917a3acb-dafe-57e7-93ca-7d9158e0b4b4)
Dedication (#u647691d5-5bcd-5561-bca9-be05efa03f68)
Chapter One (#ubd27c030-0376-56df-9132-4e1009a754a0)
Chapter Two (#ud97f155e-f484-5b55-97ca-76e019d032ba)
Chapter Three (#ub71aea7e-a4c3-58dd-8014-7e59d0c96373)
Chapter Four (#uec120911-bb63-5f49-8cda-3497bf2219ef)
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)
Chapter Eighteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Dear Reader (#litres_trial_promo)
Extract (#litres_trial_promo)
Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter One (#ua922250a-08a6-5606-a2da-abd65c4f1347)
Harmony Creek Hollow, New York
The day had started out as Jeremiah Stoltzfus had planned.
It didn’t stay that way after a woman dropped into his arms.
For most men, playing the hero for a beautiful woman would have been a dream come true. But most men didn’t discover that woman trespassing on a tumbledown farm in northern New York. A farm Jeremiah couldn’t wait to call his own.
He’d been invited by the current owner to visit when he reached Harmony Creek. In a couple of days the farm would be his.
At dawn Jeremiah had left his family’s home in Paradise Springs, Pennsylvania. He was joining others to build a new Amish settlement near the Vermont border. He’d made arrangements during the past few months, purchasing the farm based on a few photographs sent by his Realtor. After saying goodbye to his mamm, brothers and sisters along with their spouses and kinder and knowing it was unlikely he’d see them again for a year, he’d taken a train north to Albany. There, he was met by a van, which drove him the last fifty miles to Harmony Creek Hollow.
The valley edging the creek was set outside the tiny town of Salem. Rolling hills covered with trees and meadows would support dairy farms for the Amish families moving into the area.
The owner of the sixty-acre farm he was buying, Rudy Bamberger, had invited him to stop by before the closing in two days. Jeremiah suspected the old man wanted to size him up first.
Rudy had already asked him a lot of questions through Kitty Vasic, Jeremiah’s Realtor. Personal questions that Kitty told Jeremiah he didn’t have to answer. However, Jeremiah had no problem with the questions, because the old man had been selling his family’s farm. Jeremiah had written a long letter, explaining his background and his plans for the farm and his future. His answers must have satisfied Rudy, because the old man accepted his offer on the farm the next day.
When he’d arrived, Jeremiah had carried his two bags as he crossed the snowy yard past neglected barns. No tracks had been visible. Nothing had gone in or out of the big barn since the last snowstorm. Allowing himself a quick glance at the other outbuildings, which needed, as he’d known, a lot of repairs, he’d walked through the freshly fallen snow to the main house.
The large rambling home had a porch running along the front and the side facing the barn. Through a stand of spruce trees, he could see another house, where a tenant family once would have lived. The few remaining shutters hung awkwardly at the windows, a sure sign the house was a fixer-upper, too.
He looked forward to beginning—and finishing—the tasks ahead of him as he made the farm viable again. His skills as a woodworker would be useful while renovating the barns and the sap house near the sugar bush farther up the hill.
Climbing onto the porch, he’d set down his bags before he knocked snow off his well-worn work boots. He’d gone directly to the side door. Rudy had told him to use that door when he arrived.
“Don’t knock,” the most recent letter had instructed him. “My ears don’t work like they used to, and I don’t want you standing in the cold while you bang and bang. Come in and give a shout.”
He’d thrown the door open. “Rudy, are you here?”
A shriek had come from close to the ceiling. He’d looked up to see a ladder wobbling. A dark-haired woman stood at the very top, her arms windmilling.
He leaped into the small room as she fell. After years of being tossed shocks of corn and hay bales, he caught her easily. He jumped out of the way, holding her to him as the ladder crashed to the linoleum floor. His black wool hat tumbled off his head and rolled toward the wall.
“Oh, my!” gasped the woman.
She was, he noted because her face was close to his, very pretty. Her pleated kapp was flat unlike the heart-shaped ones his sisters wore. Beneath it, her hair was so black it gleamed with bluish fire in the fading sunlight coming through the door and tall windows. Her brown eyes were large with shock in her warmly tanned face, where a few freckles emphasized her high cheekbones. She wore a pale pink dress with white and green flowers scattered across it in a subtle pattern. No Amish woman from Paradise Springs would use such fabric. It must be allowed in the new settlement along Harmony Creek. What else would be different here?
But first things first.
“Are you okay?” he asked, not surprised she wasn’t the only one who sounded breathless. His heart had slammed against his chest when he saw her teetering. And from the moment he’d looked into her lustrous eyes, taking a deep breath had seemed impossible.
“I’m fine. I had just a little farther to go. Just a little...” Her voice trailed away as the shuddering ladder, which had landed on its side, clattered to the floor.
Jeremiah frowned. There was nothing on the wall to prevent her from falling. He saw the ruined wallpaper and chipped crown molding along with scraps of paper she’d already pulled off were piled on the floor. Why was she tearing off wallpaper in Rudy’s house?
“Who are you?” he asked at the same time she did.
“I’m Jeremiah Stoltzfus,” he answered. “You are...?”
“Mercy Bamberger.” Her face shifted into a polite smile, and he guessed she’d collected her wits that had been scattered by fear. “Thanks for catching me.”
“Why are you here?”
Instead of answering, she said, “You can put me down.”
Jeremiah was astonished his curiosity about why she was in what would be his house had let him forget—for a second—that he was still cradling her in his arms. He set her on her feet, but caught her by the elbow when she trembled like a slim branch in a thunderstorm.
Hearing uneven thumps upstairs and hoping they heralded Rudy’s arrival, he steered her to the left. There, a staircase was half-hidden behind a partially closed door. Seating her on the bottom step, he picked up his hat as he asked, “Are you all right?”
“I am.”
He didn’t believe her, because her skin had a gray tint and her voice quivered. He wouldn’t push her, because he guessed she was embarrassed by the circumstances. But one question remained: What was Mercy Bamberger doing in his house?
“Bamberger?” he asked aloud. “Like Rudy Bamberger?”
“Yes. Do you know my grandfather?”
Well, that explained who she was and why she was in the house. Glancing up the stairs, his eyes widened when he saw a shadow slip across the top. It was far too small for a grown man and appeared to have four legs.
He watched, saying nothing as he realized the silhouette belonged to a kind. A little girl, who looked about seven years old, had braided hair as black as Mercy’s. She leaned on metal crutches with cuffs to go around her skinny arms. Her legs were encased in plastic and Velcro from the tops of her black sneakers to her knobby knees. Who was she?
As if he’d asked the question aloud, the little girl cried, “Mommy!” Rushing at a pace that forced his heart into his throat again, because he feared she’d fall, the kind flung her arms around Mercy’s neck. “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine,” Mercy reassured her.
The kind glanced at him with a scowl. “I heard the ladder fall and—”
“I’m fine, Sunni.” She hugged the little girl. “Jeremiah kept me from getting hurt.”
“Who?”
“Jeremiah.” Mercy pushed herself to her feet and swung the little girl off the steps. She kept herself between the kind and him, showing she didn’t trust him though he’d saved her from a broken bone or worse. “He’s Jeremiah.” Without looking at him, she added, “Jeremiah, this is my daughter, Sunni.”
Again he fought not to ask the questions battering at his lips. The kind was unquestionably Asian, and her eyes, like Mercy’s, glistened like dark brown mud in a sun-washed puddle. She also wore plain clothing with a small print.
Comprehension struck him. Mercy and her daughter weren’t Amish. They dressed like the Mennonite women who lived near Paradise Springs. He searched his mind, but couldn’t recall if his Realtor had mentioned anything about Rudy living plain. He glanced up at the electric light hanging from the ceiling. Some plain folks used electricity.
Too many questions needed answers.
Right away.
“Hi, Sunni,” he said, because he didn’t want to upset the little girl or her mamm more.
She aimed another frown at him before turning her back on him. When she didn’t answer him, Mercy asked the kind why she’d been upstairs. He thought she was dismayed the little girl had gone on the stairs by herself until Mercy said, “Be extra careful. Don’t forget the floors aren’t safe.”
“I stayed away from those, Mommy.” Sunni raised her left crutch and tapped the floor beside her. “I do that to check before I go in.” Without a pause, she asked, “Can I have a cookie?”
“One,” Mercy said with a smile. “Put the bag clip on after you get your cookie.”
“Okaaaay,” Sunni replied in the same tone Jeremiah had used as a kind when his own mamm said something he deemed obvious.
He smiled, but again the little girl acted as if he were invisible before she drew her arms from the cuffs on the crutches. Leaning them against the wall, she hurried through a doorway to the right. He guessed it must lead to the kitchen.
His grin vanished as he glanced around the room. Rudy called it his everything room. Hooks on the wall showed where coats, hats and bonnets could be hung. The bare floor was scraped from years of barn boots on it, and the tattered wallpaper was a grubby white. It might once have been a brighter color. The room was furnished with a rickety table and a battered sofa covered with a worn blanket. A desk had a book under one leg to keep it steady on the sloping floor. The interior of the house was in worse condition than the outside. The photographs sent by the Realtor had been misleading.
Had he failed to examine them closely enough in his eagerness to buy the farm and get started on making his dream come true? No, he’d peered at each picture through a magnifying glass to discover every detail. He knew the kitchen cabinets were painted dull brown, and there was electricity in the house. He planned to remove the latter as soon as the papers were signed.
Jeremiah picked up the ladder and raised it against the wall again. Checking it was solidly in place, he looked at Mercy. He was curious why she was peeling paper off the wall in what would be his house. He could understand if she wanted to take one of the pictures of the farm hanging on a fake brick wall behind the desk, because the farm was her grossdawdi’s. In the silence, the tick-tock of a wall clock in the kitchen was loud.
Jeremiah appraised the room again. He intended to use it for the farm’s office, as he guessed Rudy had. It was one plan among the many he had. His brothers teased him about having to have every detail set in place before he acted, but trying to find knots in a piece of wood before he began working on it had kept him from wasting time when building a piece of furniture. Being as cautious in his other endeavors seemed wise.
Though he knew, too well, the best of plans could fall apart. He’d thought his future was set with Emmarita Kramer, but she’d jumped the fence and married an Englisch guy she’d met at an auction Jeremiah had taken her to. She never broke the courtship off with Jeremiah, just left. He should forgive her and forget his shock, but when he hadn’t been able to do either, he’d decided on a clean start in the new Harmony Creek settlement.
Hearing a throat cleared and knowing Mercy was trying to get his attention, he turned. She was shorter than he’d realized. The top of her head barely reached his shoulder. As she stuck several vagrant strands of black hair beneath her pleated kapp, she regarded him coolly. She was, he could tell from the set of her taut lips, as curious about him as her daughter had been.
He had a lot of things he wanted to ask her, too, but he waited for her to speak first.
She took one step, then another toward him, though she was at a disadvantage because she had to tilt her head to meet his eyes. Then, seeing the determination in them, he wondered if she saw her height as a liability or a way to surprise those who underestimated her.
“You never answered my question,” she said.
“Which one?” He couldn’t remember what she’d asked him, and he refused to be put on the defensive in what would be his own home.
“The important one. What are you doing here?”
“I came to see Rudy Bamberger.” He frowned. “You said he’s your grossdawdi.”
She nodded.
“Then I’m surprised he didn’t tell you I’d be coming here today.”
“Why?”
He didn’t think she was being cagey on purpose. Until now, she’d been straightforward. “He invited me to come and look around.”
She shook her head. “I don’t understand why.”
“Didn’t he tell you he’s selling me his farm?”
* * *
Mercy Bamberger was shocked speechless. Had she hit her head when she’d dropped into Jeremiah Stoltzfus’s strong arms after trying to grab another strip of wallpaper? She’d made a mess of this conversation from the get-go.
With the ancient Adirondacks to the west and the gentle Green Mountains to the east, the farm had been a haven for her from the first time she’d come to visit the man she called Grandpa Rudy. It offered the very thing she’d lost and didn’t think she’d ever find again. Home. How desperate she’d been for a sanctuary! And how precious it seemed as the promise she’d held within her heart for the past decade was being fulfilled.
She couldn’t mess it up. Already she’d made the mistake of not keeping a closer eye on Sunni. Her daughter had been born with a congenital curiosity not diminished by her physical challenges. Mercy’s determination that the little girl should do anything a regular kid could allowed Sunni to indulge her quick and inquiring mind. Telling Sunni not to investigate the rooms upstairs because the floors were unsafe must have convinced her to find out how dangerous they were.
Mercy was letting herself get distracted by a handsome stranger who appeared to be a few years older than her twenty-five years. His bright blue eyes that had been shadowed by his black wool hat identified him as one of the Amish farmers moving into the hollow. Grandpa Rudy had told her about the new settlement in one of his letters. He’d been writing to her every week since she was eleven years old, the year she’d been adopted by his son and daughter-in-law and given a chance to have a new life and the loving family she’d feared she’d never have again.
She was startled how far up she had to look to meet Jeremiah’s eyes. Few Amish men she’d met had been as tall as he was. If his ruddy hair hadn’t been cut in the plain style and he wasn’t wearing a simple light blue shirt along with black suspenders and broadfall trousers beneath his black coat, she wouldn’t have guessed this very good-looking man was Amish.
Scolding herself, she recalled how Graham Rapp was easy on the eyes, too, but he’d broken her heart by showing how much a “mama’s boy” he was by choosing his mother when Mercy refused to be second. She must not let herself be beguiled by an attractive man again. Not when so much was on the line with her plans for the farm and the changes it could make in many young lives.
But the Amish were well-known for their honesty. So why was Jeremiah talking nonsense about Grandpa Rudy selling him the farm?
“I think you’re mistaken,” she said, hoping her voice didn’t quake with the strong emotions rushing through her like lightning in a summer sky. “My grandfather didn’t mention anything about selling Come Along Farm.”
“Come Along Farm?”
“That’s the name he gave the farm when I was little. He urged us to come along and keep up with him while he did chores, so we called it Come Along Farm.”
“He didn’t tell you he’s selling me the farm?”
“No!”
“I’m sorry to take you by surprise,” he said gently, “but I’ll be closing the day after tomorrow.”
“Impossible!” Her voice squeaked, and she took a steadying breath. Sounding as young as Sunni wouldn’t help. And she didn’t want her raised voice to bring her daughter from the kitchen to investigate. The little girl was upset enough already to have to leave their Mennonite community and Mercy’s parents in central New York, and Mercy hadn’t missed the glares Sunni had shot at Jeremiah. When she and Graham ended their ill-advised engagement, her daughter had been caught up in the aftermath and no longer trusted men she didn’t know. Mercy’s attempts to reassure Sunni that the little girl had nothing to do with the breakup hadn’t helped.
“It’s not impossible. I’ve got the paperwork in my suitcase on the porch. If you want to see it—”
“I don’t have interest in seeing what can’t be legitimate. It sounds as if someone has played a horrible prank on you, Jeremiah. I’m sorry.” She was, because she guessed he’d traveled for hours or days to get there. “But the farm’s not for sale.”
He opened his mouth to protest, then closed it. Taking a deep breath, he released it. In a calm tone she doubted she could emulate, he said, “There’s no sense in arguing. Why don’t you get your grossdawdi, and we’ll settle this?”
“I can’t.”
“Why not?”
She blinked on sudden tears. “Because he’s dead.”
When Jeremiah’s face became ashen, Mercy wondered if she should tell him to take a seat. It must have been seconds, but it felt like a year before he asked, “Rudy is dead?”
“Yes.” She swallowed hard past the lump in her throat.
“When?”
“Last week. It was a massive heart attack. He was buried the day before yesterday.” As she spoke, she found it impossible to believe the vital, vigorous man was gone.
Rudy Bamberger had been more than a grandfather to her. He’d been her best friend, the one who had welcomed her into the family after her life had hit bottom. Rudy hadn’t been a replacement for Abuelita, her beloved grandmother who had raised her when she was called Mercedes in a tiny apartment in the Bronx. Abuelita had died two weeks after Mercy’s tenth birthday, and everything in Mercy’s life had changed, including her name. Yet, Grandpa Rudy had made her feel as if she belonged among the people who were so different from those she’d known in the city. His love had been unconditional, and she’d returned it.
“I’m sorry,” Jeremiah said with sincerity.
She wished he’d been trite instead of genuine, because one thing hadn’t changed. He wanted to take away the farm that was her final gift from Grandpa Rudy. How often she’d sat on the old man’s lap and talked about taking care of the apple orchard or making maple syrup as he did each spring or what color she would paint the big bedroom! He’d humored her, even when her paint choices went from pink to purple to red and black over the years.
But Jeremiah was saying her grandfather had intended to sell the farm to him.
“But Grandpa Rudy told me the farm would be mine after he passed away.”
“Then why would he sign a purchase agreement with me?”
Mercy shook herself from her mental paralysis. She hated admitting she couldn’t guess why her grandfather would break his promise to her.
“Mommy, what’s wrong?”
Shocked she hadn’t noticed Sunni in the kitchen doorway, Mercy put her arm around her daughter’s narrow shoulders. “Nothing that can’t be fixed,” she replied with a smile.
Over the child’s head, she shot Jeremiah a frown, warning him not to upset Sunni. She didn’t want her daughter to feel as if her world was being taken away from her—again—as it must have when Sunni traveled from Korea to what was supposed to be her forever home. It hadn’t been, because her adoptive parents, who’d changed her name from Kim Sun-Hee to Sunni, couldn’t handle having a daughter who wore leg braces. Sunni had been returned to social services as if she were a set of curtains that didn’t match the furniture. A disrupted adoption was the name given to it. Or a failed placement. The latter fit better, because it sure felt like a failure for the child involved.
As Mercy had learned herself fifteen years ago when she’d been the one given away by what she’d thought would be her forever family. If the Bambergers hadn’t been there to take her in... No, she didn’t want to think of that awful time.
Again, she warned herself to focus on the present, not the past. And her and Sunni’s future. She had to stop letting her emotions take over. She needed to be logical. Building Come Along Farm into a retreat for city kids would require her to face a lot of bureaucracy on local and state levels. She must be ready to stand up for what she wanted.
“Sunni, if you go and get the book we were reading, I’ll meet you in the living room once I’m finished here.”
The little girl looked from her to Jeremiah, then nodded. “Okay, Mommy.”
Mercy said nothing as Jeremiah watched Sunni hobble away. There was no pity in his expression, and she was grateful. Too many people felt sorry for Sunni, calling her a “poor little thing.” Sunni was one of the strongest people Mercy knew and had learned to walk through perseverance and hard work. If only Mercy could help her heal from the emotional wounds she’d suffered, but those would take more time.
As soon as the little girl was out of earshot, Mercy said, “I guess I should see the purchase agreement you say my grandfather signed.”
Jeremiah hooked a thumb toward the door. “Give me a minute, and I’ll dig out the paperwork I’ve got.”
She considered locking the door, but that wouldn’t solve the problem. Instead, she held the door open while he brought in two scuffed duffel bags.
Closing the door, she said nothing while he opened one bag and found a manila envelope. He withdrew a sheaf of pages and sorted through them. In the middle of the stack, he pulled out several and offered them to her.
“Here’s everything I got from your grossdawdi through my Realtor,” he said without a hint of emotion.
Mercy didn’t look to discover if compassion had slipped into his gaze. This time, for her. She wanted it no more than Sunni would have. When he handed her the pages, his work-roughened skin brushed against her fingers. Sensation arced between them like electricity, and she jerked her hand away. Being attracted to the man who insisted he was buying her family’s farm would be stupid.
If he had the same reaction, she couldn’t tell, because she carefully kept her gaze on the papers. She scanned each page, her heart sinking lower and lower. Everything looked aboveboard, and she recognized her grandfather’s scrawled signature on the bottom of each page. She didn’t stop to decipher every bit of legalese, but grasped enough to know Grandpa Rudy was selling the farm to Jeremiah Stoltzfus.
Just as Jeremiah claimed.
“But my grandfather died,” she whispered. “Doesn’t that change things?”
“I don’t know. This is the first time I’ve ever bought property.” He gave her a lopsided grin that lifted her traitorous heart once more.
Paying it no attention, she returned the papers to him and he put them in his bag. No one could answer the question gnawing at her most. Why would her grandfather promise her the property and then decide to sell it without telling her? She’d often mentioned her plans for the farm. Hadn’t he read her letters? Yes, he had, because he’d responded to things in them. But never, she realized with a jolt of dismay, had he written anything about her intention to make Come Along Farm a sanctuary for city youngsters like the one she’d enjoyed when she was a Fresh Air kid years ago, escaping for two amazing weeks each summer from the steam bath of the Bronx.
“I’m not sure what we should do,” he said when she remained silent.
“Me, either.” For the first time she looked straight into his brilliantly blue eyes. He must realize what she was about to say she meant with all her heart. “However, you need to know I’m not going to relinquish my family’s farm to you or anyone else.”
“But—”
“We moved in a couple of days ago. We’re not giving it up.” She crossed her arms over her chest. “It’s our home.”
Chapter Two (#ua922250a-08a6-5606-a2da-abd65c4f1347)
Jeremiah had to select his words with care. He didn’t know if he’d be allowed to close on the farm as scheduled. He’d never heard of a person dying before property was transferred, because in Paradise Springs most farms were handed down from one generation to the next.
As Mercy said Rudy had meant to do with this farm. He’d changed his mind, but why?
Until he spoke with Kitty Vasic, his Realtor, and got her advice, he didn’t know what the outcome of this sticky situation would be. Mercy wasn’t going to back down. That much was clear. If their situations were reversed, he suspected he’d be as unwilling to compromise. He was unwilling to compromise.
There wasn’t room to. Either the farm was going to be his...or it wasn’t.
“It’s late,” he said when he realized Mercy was waiting for him to say something. “I doubt Kitty’s office is open. Do you know anyone nearby who has a phone I could use?”
As if in answer to him, a faint ringing came from beyond the living room. He glanced at Mercy and saw she was as surprised as he was at the unexpected sound.
“Phone!” called Sunni. “I’ll get it.”
“No! I’ll get it.” Mercy spun on her heel and ran toward the sound.
Jeremiah followed, too curious to wait. He paid no attention to the large living room as he went after Mercy through what looked like a storage room and then into a bedroom. It was draped in shadows, but a single greenish light glared off to one side.
Mercy grabbed the cordless phone and jabbed at a button. Holding it to her ear, she asked, “Hello?”
The faint buzz of a voice reached him, but he couldn’t discern words. His eyes widened when she held the phone out to him.
“It’s for you,” she said.
“For me?”
“Yes, unless you know another Jeremiah Stoltzfus.”
He knew three others in Paradise Springs alone. Taking the phone, he said, “This is Jeremiah Stoltzfus.”
“Hi, Jeremiah,” replied a strained female voice. “This is Kitty Vasic. I know Rudy invited you to the farm, so I thought I’d catch you there. We need to talk. Rudy Bamberger is dead.”
“Ja, I know.” He glanced toward Mercy, but she’d gone to stand by a window. Talking about this was uncomfortable. For him, the farm and his future were at stake, but she’d lost her grossdawdi. He didn’t like the idea of losing his opportunity to buy this farm, but he also disliked the idea of taking Mercy’s home.
“I’ve got something tonight I can’t get out of,” Kitty said. “How about I come over tomorrow afternoon?”
“Tomorrow afternoon should be fine.” What else could he say?
“Good. I’ll meet you at the farm around one.”
He thanked her. Tilting the phone toward the faint light coming through the window, he found the button to end the call. He set it in its holder. It chirped once, and then its glow faded.
“That was my Realtor,” Jeremiah said. “She’s coming over tomorrow afternoon around one to discuss what happens next.”
A soft click sounded in the room before a lamp came on by the side of a bed with a headboard taller than he was. It was carved with a great tree filled with birds and other beasts gathered below it. He realized the lamp must have been connected to a timer.
“I can make myself scarce,” Mercy replied.
He shook his head. “Don’t. You should be here so you can ask Kitty your questions. In fact, you should contact the Realtor your grossdawdi used and have him here.”
“I have no idea who that is.”
“His name is on the paperwork I signed. Why don’t I get it? It might have his phone number. You can call him and get him here, too.”
She rubbed her hands together. “Thank you, Jeremiah. You’re being nice about this.”
“Me? You didn’t throw me out on my ear when I barged in.”
When she smiled, it was as if another dozen lights had turned on. “I couldn’t throw you out after you saved me from my own foolishness.”
The pleasant warmth buzzed through him again as his gaze connected with hers. He looked away. Until he knew what was going to happen with the farm, he needed to keep his distance.
Turning on his heel, he went to where he’d left his bags. He’d get the information she needed and then...
And then what?
Tell her he’d planned to stay here tonight? He couldn’t insist Mercy and her little girl find another place tonight. He wasn’t sure what, under the circumstances, would happen if he left the property before the disposition of the farm was decided. Possession being nine-tenths of the law...or something like that.
He paused as he saw an overhead photo of the farm. His gaze riveted on the tenant house. It was the answer to tonight’s impasse.
Digging among the stack of legal forms, he found the purchase agreement. He paged through it to find Rudy’s Realtor’s name and contact information. There! He pulled a pencil out of his pocket along with the small notebook that he kept handy to take notes when someone ordered a piece of furniture. Though he planned to concentrate on farming, he knew he’d be doing woodworking on the side until he could get his first crop harvested. His hand tools and small power tools were on their way to Harmony Creek. As he wrote the name and number of Rudy’s Realtor, he hoped he wouldn’t have to ship those heavy crates back unopened.
He handed the information to Mercy, who nodded her thanks. Returning the papers in the envelope, he dropped it into the open bag. He drew the strings to close it and looked at Mercy. She was as serious as a sinner confessing in front of the Leit. Maybe it was for the best she didn’t smile again. He was too fascinated by the high arch of her cheekbones and her dark eyes.
“It’s getting late,” he said. “We’re not going to settle this tonight. It makes sense for you and your little girl to stay here. I’ll sleep in the tenant house.”
Her eyes widened. “That’s very kind, Jeremiah, but I’m not sure there’s heat in the tenant house.”
“I can figure out something.” He glanced around the room. “Do you have blankets?”
“There are plenty upstairs. Help yourself.” After she’d given him directions to the linen closet and he started for the stairs in the narrow space behind the door, she added, “Be careful. Like I told Sunni, the floors aren’t as sturdy as they should be.”
“I’ll take my cue from her and test the floors before I step on them.” He hurried upstairs before his grin popped out and betrayed how pleased he was to have an excuse to see more of the house he hoped would become his.
A pulse of guilt coursed through him, hot and powerful. The farm belonged to Mercy’s family, and he’d be upset if someone came along and insisted his brother surrender his claim on the farm where Jeremiah had grown up. But if he walked away, he might not find another farm near Harmony Creek.
Leaving to live elsewhere might be the difference between the new settlement succeeding or failing. A settlement needed about a dozen families to prosper, and a single person not staying as agreed could doom it. He’d made a deal with the other families, and he couldn’t break it without trying to stay.
Following Mercy’s directions to a linen closet, Jeremiah paused whenever he heard the floor creak beneath him. Each time it wasn’t anything more than the sounds made by an old building. He went to the closet beside the single bathroom on the upper floor and glanced into each room as he passed. Most were empty. Remnants of wallpaper hung in loose strips, and a damp odor filled every breath. Nibbled acorns warned squirrels had invaded. He was sure they were in the attic, too. Once it was warm enough for the squirrels to go outside, he’d check the exterior and block the holes they’d made to get into the house.
If he was here then...
He sighed. “God, You’ve brought me here. Help me see Your plan and the way for me to be part of this new settlement.”
Selecting a couple of wool blankets and guessing there would be plenty of moth holes, he grabbed two more before he went downstairs. He could get by for a single night. If it went as he hoped, by tomorrow night he’d be able to sleep in his own house.
Mercy was waiting in the exact same spot where she’d been when he’d left. Again, guilt tormented him. Part of him wanted to walk away, but he couldn’t.
“Did you find enough blankets?” she asked.
“I did.”
“They may not be in good condition.”
“They’re gut enough for tonight.”
She rubbed her hands together as she had before, and he realized she was as torn as he was. Turning the other cheek was the Mennonites’ way, too, but he’d seen how her eyes snapped when she spoke of him keeping her from making a home here for her and her kind.
“If it gets too cold,” she said, “come back.” A hint of a smile played along her lips. “You freezing to death would be a real complication.”
When he chuckled, her smile broadened, revealing the gentle person she was.
“Don’t worry, Mercy. I’ll be fine.” He hoped it wasn’t a boast. The temperatures had been dropping fast when he came to the house. He headed for the door.
“Do you have anything to eat?” she asked.
Her question stopped him in his tracks. “No.”
“Wait here.” Mercy rushed into the kitchen. He heard cabinet doors opening and closing as well as drawers being slid in and out; then she returned with a plastic bag filled with odd shapes. “It’s peanut butter and jelly and a few slices of the bread I brought with us. Also a couple of cans of orange juice. It’s Sunni’s favorite, so I always have a bunch on hand.”
“It’s my favorite, too.”
The smile he hadn’t guessed he’d see again spread across her face, adding an aura of light to her eyes and skin. “I’m glad!”
That pleasurable something uncurled within him once more as he gazed into her pretty eyes. A man could get lost in those eyes. He looked away. He hadn’t come to Harmony Creek to get lost, but to find his dream.
Picking up his duffel bags, he opened one and stuffed the thin blankets inside. He felt like a hobo as he steered his bags and himself out of the house. By the time he’d reached the porch steps, he heard the dead bolt click closed. Mercy wasn’t taking any chance he’d have second thoughts and return.
He would be there tomorrow, he thought as he trudged through the snow. Because he wasn’t ready to give up his dream...when it was within his grasp.
* * *
The next morning Mercy surveyed the wall completely stripped of ugly, peeling wallpaper. It’d taken more effort than she’d expected to get the remaining paper off. Maybe she shouldn’t have done more work until she knew for certain what was going to happen with the farm. When the clock on the mantel in the living room had chimed nine o’clock, she’d used the phone in the kitchen and called Darren Paquette, Grandpa Rudy’s Realtor. His office was in Glens Falls, more than twenty-five miles away, and she’d been grateful to catch him at his desk.
At least she had been until he told her not to do anything until she heard from him again. When she explained about the meeting that afternoon with Jeremiah and his Realtor, Mr. Paquette warned her to say nothing.
“A real estate transaction is adversarial at best,” he’d said, “and this is far from the best situation.”
“When can you come here?”
“Tell Kitty Vasic to call me, and we’ll discuss it. There’s no reason to involve you and Mr. Stoltzfus at this point.”
“I’ll tell her.”
How could he say she and Jeremiah weren’t involved in deciding the future of the farm? That was the silliest thing she’d ever heard.
“Are you okay, Mommy?” asked Sunni as she came downstairs.
Mercy smiled at her dear daughter, who looked adorable in her light green dress and with her black braids falling over her shoulders. The little girl was sensitive to everyone’s moods, and Mercy didn’t want her to get more upset.
“I’m fine, eolin-i.” The phrase meaning “little one” was one of the few she knew in Korean.
“Is he coming back?”
“Jeremiah?”
“Yeah, him.”
She got the broom she’d found in a kitchen closet and began sweeping the wallpaper scraps into a pile. “He’s returning this afternoon with a friend of his.”
“Is he going to make you sad again?”
Putting aside the broom, Mercy squatted until her eyes were level with her daughter’s. “Jeremiah didn’t intend to make me sad. But he talked about Grandpa Rudy, and that made me sad.”
“Me, too.” Her dark eyes glistened with tears. “I miss his water balloons.”
“I don’t miss that.” Mercy forced humor into her voice. “You two made me your favorite target.”
“It was fun to be splashed on a hot day.”
“It was, wasn’t it?” She hugged Sunni, being careful she didn’t pull her daughter off balance.
Mercy started to add more, but the door opened. She gasped when Jeremiah walked in. Nobody ever knocked at her grandfather’s door, but for the first time, having someone let himself in seemed like an invasion. From where she squatted, it appeared the top of his straw hat brushed the ceiling.
Telling herself not to be frivolous, she made sure Sunni was steady as she came to her own feet. Paper crunched under her sneakers when she turned to him. “I thought you were coming this afternoon.”
“It is afternoon.”
“It is?”
He chuckled. “The hours pass swiftly when there’s plenty of work, ain’t so?”
Mercy warned herself to relax. His teasing was aimed at trying to make the situation as comfortable as possible. “There are never enough hours in a day.”
“True.” He turned to Sunni. “How are you doing today?”
“You aren’t going to make my mommy sad again, are you?” her daughter shot back in a tone that warned Jeremiah he’d be sorry if he did that.
Though she wanted to remind Sunni of her manners, Mercy said nothing. How Jeremiah answered could tell her a lot about what he was planning to do next.
Taking off his hat, he held it by the brim. “I’m sorry if I made her sad before.” He raised his eyes to meet Mercy’s, and she saw his sincerity as he added, “And I don’t want to make her or you sad.”
“So you say,” Sunni retorted, shocking Mercy again. Her daughter wasn’t usually rude, but she seemed to have taken an instant dislike to Jeremiah. Should Mercy heed her daughter’s instincts...which she now could see had been spot-on where her ex-fiancé had been concerned?
But being rude to someone in their home—or what she hoped would be their home—wasn’t acceptable. “Sunni,” she interjected in a firm tone, “it’s not nice to suggest Jeremiah would do something hurtful on purpose.”
As it isn’t kind for me to ask why Grandpa Rudy hid how he was selling the farm that he said would be mine. Why? Why would you change your mind without telling me?
“I’m sorry,” Sunni said, but her obstinate frown countermanded her words.
“It’s okay to ask questions,” Jeremiah replied, “but my mamm says you can catch more flies with honey than with vinegar.”
“Who wants to catch flies?” The little girl grimaced. “Gross.”
Mercy struggled not to laugh as she explained the adage to her daughter. Looking at Jeremiah, she said, “It’s past time for Sunni and I to have lunch, and I know how hungry she gets after doing her schoolwork. I’m homeschooling her.” Realizing she was babbling, she added, “Have you eaten?”
“I had the last of the peanut butter for breakfast.”
“You can join us if you don’t mind leftover pizza.”
“Leftover pizza sounds like manna from heaven.”
Laughing, she said, “I didn’t order the manna topping. I hope you like pepperoni.”
A slow smile spread over Jeremiah’s face, and her heart did a stutter step as his blue eyes shone like a cloudless summer sky. He’d been so serious during their previous discussions. Seeing him smile was like being confronted by a stranger.
He is a stranger. A stranger who wants your farm. Telling her heart to behave itself because it’d been so wrong about Graham, she led the way into the kitchen. She’d be a fool to listen to her heart that had believed Graham loved her. Fortunately, she’d realized in time she always would have been a distant second in his affections after his mother.
She’d learned her lesson. Or she should have. Maybe her brain had, but her heart had a lot to learn.
Mercy used the time while she got the pizza out of the ancient refrigerator in the off-white kitchen and began warming it in the oven to regain her equilibrium. She must not be distracted by Jeremiah’s beguiling smile when the future of Come Along Farm was at stake. When she got cans of soda—a special treat for Sunni—from the fridge, she listened as Jeremiah tried to engage her daughter in conversation.
Sunni was being cautious, either not replying or giving a single-word answer. It was a reminder, though Mercy didn’t need one, of how her daughter had been hurt by Graham’s decision to choose someone over them and walk away without a backward look. Too many people had done that to Sunni, and Mercy was determined her daughter wouldn’t feel abandoned again.
They were finishing what was a very uncomfortable lunch when a knock came at the door. Mercy watched as the door opened and a woman stuck her head in.
“Anyone home?”
Mercy was on her feet as Jeremiah pushed back his chair. She saw him reach to assist Sunni and shook her head to halt him. Sunni needed to do everything as other kids did. If Jeremiah acted as if he thought Sunni couldn’t do something, it would make the little girl dislike him more.
Jeremiah appeared taken aback, but drew aside his hands as Sunni pushed her chair out. When Mercy went to the door, he followed.
“Hi, Kitty,” he said before introducing Mercy to his Realtor.
Kitty Vasic was the picture of an elegant, successful businesswoman. She wore a business suit of the brightest pink Mercy had ever seen, and her shoes had spiked heels that must be five inches high. Mercy was fascinated, because she expected the Realtor to topple on each step.
“Mr. Stoltzfus, how nice to meet you in person.” Kitty held out her hand and when he took it, she pumped his hand vigorously. “And you, too, Ms. Bamberger.”
“Please call me Mercy,” she said at the same time Jeremiah was urging the Realtor to use his given name.
Jeremiah added, “Plain folks don’t like to use titles.”
“Oh, that’s good to know.” Kitty smiled. “With you Amish moving into southern Washington County, it’s important to learn how to be good neighbors. Don’t you agree?”
Mercy considered saying she wasn’t Amish, but she didn’t want to delay hearing what the Realtor had to say. “We appreciate you coming so we can get this unfortunate situation resolved right away.”
Kitty’s smile wavered. “Oh, dear! I’m sorry if I led you to believe this could be settled today.”
“But I thought—” Jeremiah began.
“Let’s talk, and I’ll tell you what I do know.” She grinned as Sunni appeared in the kitchen doorway. “Well, hello, young lady. You must be a Bamberger because I know Jeremiah doesn’t have children.”
“Sunni,” Mercy said, “this would be a good time for you to finish the story we started last night.”
The little girl glanced at Jeremiah’s and Kitty’s taut faces. Mercy guessed her own expression was as uneasy. With a nod, Sunni went into the dining room, where two overstuffed chairs were set by a fireplace that opened into the kitchen, as well. It needed to be swept because ashes had tumbled onto the floor. Something else for Mercy to add to her lengthy to-do list.
Pushing aside her longing to go with her daughter and forget about these complications, Mercy squared her shoulders. “We can sit in the living room.”
Behind her, the click-click-click of Kitty’s high heels marked her steps, but Jeremiah’s boot falls were surprisingly light for such a tall, muscular man. She shook those thoughts from her head. She couldn’t allow herself to become distracted.
She sat in what had been her grandfather’s favorite chair by the wide window offering a view of the road through the bare branches of the maple trees. Waiting until the others chose chairs, she gazed at the green tiles on the large fireplace.
“What can you tell us, Kitty?” she asked.
“It’s unlikely the closing will go on as planned.” Kitty shot an apologetic look toward Jeremiah.
His face went as blank as the wall behind him, and his gaze refused to meet hers. The pulse of sympathy surging through her was startling. If he closed on the property, her hopes for Come Along Farm would end. Yet, he had dreams for the property, too. Oh, how she wished there was a solution that could satisfy them both.
When the Realtor spoke again, Mercy focused on her. “We’ll need to consult with an attorney,” Kitty said, “to determine what New York law says. I’ve got to admit it’s the first time I’ve been involved with a property transfer where one party died before closing. Mercy, I should have said this before. I’m sorry for your loss.”
“Thank you.”
“Your grandfather was well respected and well liked. I can’t tell you how many times I enjoyed a cup of coffee with him at the Village Diner.”
“Did he mention why he decided to sell?” She regretted the question. Talking about private matters when Jeremiah sat a couple of feet away was unsettling.
Kitty reached over and patted her arm. “He was selling it for you and your daughter.”
“For us? But he promised...” This time she halted herself before she said too much.
“I don’t know what he told you, Mercy, but Rudy mentioned that he wanted you to have a majority of the money. He hoped you’d build a nice home so you’d be close to his assisted-living apartment. He spoke often about you and your daughter and how he looked forward to spending more time with you.”
“Why didn’t he tell me this?”
Kitty shook her head sadly. “That’s something I can’t answer. I’m as perplexed as you are. I’m sure he had his reasons, but he never mentioned them to me or Darren.” Her eyes narrowed. “Have you spoken with Darren?”
“I called him this morning. He said to tell you to call him.”
“I see.” Her lips tightened into a straight line, an expression that said as loudly as a shout she was annoyed. “We should wait on discussing this further until Darren can be here, too, to represent Rudy’s estate.”
“But do you think the contract is valid?” Jeremiah asked.
“We should wait—”
“I think Mercy is as anxious as I am to hear your opinion. I understand we can’t make decisions without Darren’s input, but is the contract valid?”
“From what I’ve read, the answer is yes and no. In some states, the contract would be invalid upon the death of either party.” She glanced from Mercy to him. “But we have leeway in New York. If the heir or heirs are willing, the contract can be completed. However, that is my opinion from a quick read on the internet. Until we have an opinion from an attorney, I don’t think either of you should assume anything.”
Jeremiah turned to Mercy. “You are your grossdawdi’s heir, ain’t so?”
“One of them, I guess. Rudy is my father’s father.”
“Is your father alive?” asked Kitty.
She nodded.
“What about his brothers and sisters?”
“My father has six siblings,” she replied.
Jeremiah sighed. “Kitty, when my daed—my dad—died, everything he had went to my mother. But if she’d died first...”
“The estate would be divided equally among his children.” Kitty bit her lower lip, then said, “Unless Rudy left a written and witnessed will that specifies otherwise.”
Mercy’s heart sank toward her knees as she realized where the conversation was going. If Grandpa Rudy hadn’t left a valid will naming her as his heir, the property would belong to her father, her four aunts and her two uncles.
“Do you have names and contact information for your father and his siblings?” asked Kitty.
“I can find them. All but one aunt have telephones.”
The Realtor smiled. “I’m glad to hear that. It’ll make getting in contact with them much easier. However, paperwork will have to be mailed to them for their signatures. I’m not sure, at this point, whether the signatures will have to be notarized. The probate court will let us know.”
“We have to go to court?” asked Jeremiah.
Mercy heard his consternation and understood. It usually wasn’t the way of plain folks to deal with courts and lawyers. Matters were settled privately and through prayer, but estate matters were different. She wondered whom her grandfather had hired to draft his will...if he had one.
She was out of her depth. Ask her about the needs of inner-city kids and the benefits of them enjoying a summer in the country, and she could expound for an hour. Since Sunni’s arrival in her life, she’d learned a lot about intercountry adoption and physical therapy and the adventures of the little girl’s beloved characters in her favorite books.
But she knew nothing about what would happen with the farm.
“If you agree, Jeremiah,” Kitty went on, “I’ll share the contract with my agency’s lawyer. I’d like him to review it and give us advice to aid us in bringing the contract to a closing.” She sighed. “To be honest, this won’t be quick. Obtaining an agreement from seven people will take time, and we can’t be certain of the outcome.”
“Is there another farm for sale in the area?” Jeremiah asked.
“None that I know of. I can make inquiries, if you’d like.”
“Ja.”
Her eyes cut toward Mercy. “I’ll do what I can, Jeremiah, but I can’t make promises. Not about this farm or any other.”
“I know,” he said again.
“And there’s one other complication. Your money in escrow may be held by the probate court until there’s an agreement among the heirs.”
He blanched. “I can’t put in another offer until the money is released.”
“Yes, though if someone is eager to sell, we might be able to work something out.” Kitty sighed. “However, like I said, I don’t know of other farms for sale near Harmony Creek. There’s one over by Scotts Lake, seven or eight miles from here.”
“Too far for me to be part of this settlement.”
“So I figured.” She stood.
Mercy clasped her hands on her lap. If the closing went ahead, Jeremiah would own the farm. If the sale had to be approved by Grandpa Rudy’s heirs, would Dad and his brothers and sisters decide to sell it to Jeremiah? Two of his siblings would be eager to use their share of the proceeds to invest in their businesses. What about the others? And how many had to say no before Jeremiah couldn’t close on the farm? Was it a simple majority or could a single no vote give her the chance to buy the farm herself?
But how? The money she had was already earmarked to fix the house and the buildings to be approved for bringing children to visit. In addition, she needed to buy horses and other farm animals to give the youngsters a true farm experience. Perhaps she could convince her family to let her pay them bit by bit.
She heard Kitty say she’d contact them when she had further information. The click-click-click of Kitty’s shoes headed toward the door, and Jeremiah went, too, talking with his Realtor.
Mercy didn’t move. There had to be a solution to her dilemma, but what?
Unless Rudy left a written and witnessed will that specifies otherwise.
Kitty’s words resonated in Mercy’s head, and she gasped. What if she found a will? There were many rooms, and she hadn’t dared to go into the ones with weak floors. What if she found her grandfather’s will and it proved her assertion he wanted her to have the farm?
She got up and took a single step toward the formal staircase at the front of the house. Pausing, she looked over her shoulder when she heard Jeremiah’s deep voice rumbling in the other room. If he knew of her intention to search the house, would he help her or try to halt her? Until she knew for sure, she couldn’t let him know what she was doing. She didn’t like secrets, but keeping this one might mean the difference between her dreams coming true and their destruction.
Chapter Three (#ua922250a-08a6-5606-a2da-abd65c4f1347)
Last night Jeremiah had discovered the tenant house was in worse condition than he’d guessed. It hadn’t taken him long to explore it, using his flashlight. A tiny kitchen and a cozy living room filled the first floor. Upstairs were two cramped bedrooms and a bath. Every ceiling had brown water stains, and one wall of the entry hall was pulling away from the house. He’d been able to see light from the rising moon through the crack, and a puddle of slush was piled on the linoleum beside it.
This morning he woke to find the house cold and damp. He’d been grateful for a woodstove in the living room and a few logs stacked nearby. He’d used the rag rug by the stove as a mattress. He’d folded a blanket as a makeshift pillow. He’d told himself, though it wasn’t likely it’d be comfortable, he’d endured worse when he’d camped in the woods when he wasn’t much older than Sunni.
He’d been wrong.
Every muscle ached, and moving in the icy air seemed to make his bones creak as if he’d aged fifty years overnight. It was dark, but he guessed it was around 4:00 a.m. It was the time when he usually woke to help with chores before leaving for his woodworking shop.
His tools would be arriving today or tomorrow. He should have waited until he closed on the property before he had the crates trucked up from Paradise Springs. But how could he have imagined the debacle waiting for him in Harmony Creek?
With a groan, he pushed himself up to sit. He grimaced as the frigid air gripped him as the thick blanket fell away. Standing, he went to the stove, which was barely warm. He opened the door and saw the banked embers had burned themselves out.
Jeremiah sent up a prayer of thanks when, after he’d started a new fire in the stove, the air close to the stove warmed quickly. Something worked in the house.
After his quick inspection his first night at the house, he knew not much else did. No water had flowed into the sinks, and flushing the toilet had resulted in strange creaking sounds in the walls as if the pipes were trying to break out. The propane tanks by the back door must be empty, because the kitchen stove had refused to light.
He hoped he would have better results this morning. He opened a door to what might have been a laundry or storage room. A rusty washer lurked beneath shelves covered with dust and droppings. In a closet, he found a lantern but no kerosene.
Brushing the kitchen table off as best he could, he grimaced when it rocked. Were the legs uneven or the floor? That answer and a whole lot more would have to wait until he could see beyond the narrow circle from his flashlight.
He made the same meal he’d eaten last night. A peanut butter and grape jelly sandwich. He thought fondly of the large meal of eggs and sausage and home fries he would have eaten at home. After he said silent grace, he ate standing up. He found a napkin Mercy had added to the bag. He sighed, wondering if it would have been much easier if she’d been rude or snarled like an angry dog. Instead, she’d made sure he had blankets to keep him warm and food to eat.
And she’d been stubborn.
Did she have ideas of her own for the farm? Most likely, as she’d started work on the house. He appreciated that, because he’d spent hours putting together his plans, something his brothers had helped him with while they teased him for trying to look at every possible angle. Taking another bite of the sandwich, he wished his brothers were nearby. He could have used their insight.
A knock startled him. Why would someone come to a house that must have been deserted for years? Setting his sandwich down, he brushed crumbs off his hands and tossed them in the sink before he went to the door.
He opened it and saw a face he recognized. The man who had recruited others to come to Harmony Creek.
“You’re Caleb Hartz, ain’t so?” Jeremiah asked, remembering how Caleb had spoken at a gathering in Paradise Springs, telling about the fallow farmland on small family farms awaiting anyone who was willing to work hard to improve it.
The man nodded, then swept his too-long blond hair out of his dark green eyes. “Ja. I thought I’d stop by this morning to see how you’re settling in.” His tawny brows lowered. “I assumed you’d be at the main house, but the woman who answered the door told me I’d find you here.”
“Things are a bit complicated.” After he invited Caleb into the house, he gave him a quick overview of the situation.
Caleb, who would be one of his neighbors if the sale went through, listened with widening eyes. “I got to know Rudy pretty well. He was a gut man. He wouldn’t have signed a purchase contract with you if he didn’t intend for you to buy the farm.”
“Maybe he should have mentioned that to his granddaughter.”
Caleb’s frown deepened, drawing lines into the thin angles of his face. “It’s a puzzle. I’ve been here a little over a month. Everyone I’ve talked to—both Amish and Englisch—has praised Rudy’s honesty. He sold me a battered skid loader I’ll need to move hay bales. He didn’t make any bones about how much work it would need, and he sold it at a fair price.”
“My dealings with him were gut, too. I wish I knew why he didn’t let Mercy know he was selling the farm.”
“I hope you won’t have to leave Harmony Creek. We need every family we can convince to join us in order to make this settlement a success.”
Jeremiah didn’t need that reminder. From the moment he’d expressed interest in joining the Hartz family and the Waglers as well as other founding members of the Harmony Creek colony, he’d been told he must be very sure about his commitment. Each family was vital to the rest.
“I’m not leaving. I’m going to farm here.” Saying the words aloud was like taking an oath in the presence of the Lord, though God was well aware of what was in Jeremiah’s heart.
“Aren’t you a woodworker by trade?”
“Ja, but farming is too much in my blood.” He surprised himself by chuckling. “My late daed would be shocked because I hated to get out of bed to do chores.”
Caleb chuckled. “My daed used to threaten to dump cold water on me and my brothers to get us up in the morning.”
“Sounds familiar.”
“I can ask around and find out if anyone is thinking about selling.”
“Danki, but I’ve got to wait and hear what my Realtor learns from her attorney. As my mamm has said more than once, there’s no need to look for trouble before it finds you.”
“Sounds like something my mamm would have said, too.”
“My brothers believe mamms have a special language filled with platitudes for every occasion.”
Caleb laughed heartily. “Why is it dark in here?”
“I couldn’t find oil for the lantern.”
“The house has electricity. Rudy mentioned both houses were wired.” With a wave of his hand, he added, “Let’s find the fuse box and see if we can get you some light. More important is powering the well pump so you can have water.”
Jeremiah followed him into the cellar. As they crossed the dirt floor to where a metal box was affixed to the wall, he wondered why he hadn’t considered checking the well pump. Exhaustion could be a reason, because he felt as if he carried the house on his shoulders as he trudged after Caleb.
His neighbor whistled a single note as he popped open the door on the metal box. “A circuit breaker box. Who’d have guessed Rudy had updated his tenant house?” Reaching in, he flipped a switch.
A low rumble came from the far side of the cellar. Jeremiah aimed his flashlight in that direction and saw the well’s holding tank. His fatigue fell away as he realized he could have water to brush his teeth once he’d let it run long enough to make sure any rust washed out.
“Danki,” he said.
Caleb shrugged. “Glad to help. I’m sure this circuit breaker box isn’t the first surprise you’re going to find.”
Jeremiah was tempted to say the breakers were far from the first surprise he’d had since his arrival, but grousing wouldn’t get him anywhere. He needed to be patient until Kitty had answers for him. That had to be his plan. Wait and see.
A sense of calm settled over him as he realized he had a clear path...for now. He thanked God for helping him see that. He must be patient. Not an easy task when his dream was so close to realization.
Several lights were glaring against the water-stained ceilings when he went upstairs with Caleb. He switched off everything but the fluorescent ceiling light in the kitchen, though he despised its glare.
“Let us know if you need anything before your stuff arrives,” Caleb said as he reached for the doorknob. He glanced outside. “Looks like we’re in for another big storm.” Grimacing at the crack in the wall, he added, “We’re living in the barn while we get the house repaired, and our barn is better than this. Feel free to come over if you get tired of shoveling snow out of your house.”
“Danki.” He knew he wouldn’t abandon the house, because that might injure his fragile claim on the farm. “I appreciate it.”
“We may be snowed in for a while, because we’re one of the last roads plowed by the town. I don’t think Rudy sold his sleigh, so if you or anyone at the main house needs something, you can use it.”
“Danki.” He appreciated Caleb’s helpfulness, which made him more determined to be a part of the nascent community. Amish folks assisted one another. Did Mercy feel the same?
“Oh, one other thing I should let you know.” Caleb turned the knob. “Wayne Flaud from the settlement north of here in Whitehall is acting as our temporary bishop. If you want me to contact him to get his thoughts on what you should do...”
“Let’s see what my Realtor has to say before we bring the bishop into this. I’m sure this will work out for the best. God didn’t bring me to Harmony Creek so I could turn around and leave again.”
With another nod, Caleb bid him gute mariye and let himself out as a burst of cold and a swirl of windblown snow slipped in past him.
Jeremiah guessed Caleb believed his words. Too bad he wasn’t so sure himself.
* * *
Any hopes spring might have made an early appearance overnight were dashed three days later when Mercy awoke to discover two feet of new snow. She dressed hastily, because the house was cold in the fresh light of dawn.
Peeking past Sunni’s door and glad her daughter was asleep with the blankets pulled up to her chin, Mercy tiptoed down the stairs. They creaked beneath her, and she hoped Sunni wouldn’t wake up until Mercy figured out what was wrong with the heat.
Despite herself, she glanced out the window that gave her a view of the trees separating them from the tenant house. She hadn’t spoken to Jeremiah since he’d left after the meeting with his Realtor. She’d seen big delivery trucks in the yard the following day and watched him accept delivery of a horse, a buggy and a dozen large wooden crates, which he’d moved into an outbuilding. He’d spent time inside, coming out with pieces of wood, so she guessed he was unpacking what he’d shipped to the farm.
That was a sign Jeremiah intended to stay.
No surprise, but if he thought she’d give up because he was making himself at home, he was in for a big surprise. She’d waited years for an opportunity to host city kids on a farm.
She’d thought her grandfather comprehended her need to pay forward the gifts she’d been given. Instantly, she was contrite. She couldn’t fault Grandpa Rudy for his change of heart about what should happen with the farm after he died, but she wished he’d talked to her before signing a deal with Jeremiah.
He was as much an innocent victim of this mess as she was. Of course, if he withdrew his offer, that might make a difference for her aunts and uncles. Would they be more willing to give her time to find funds to set up the farm if they didn’t have an available buyer?
Mercy had discussed that with her parents last night. Her father had sympathy for how her plans for the farm might have died along with Rudy, but he’d also emphasized that he’d go along with what his siblings decided.
“I’ve got to admit,” Dad had told her before they’d hung up, “I’d really like to have you and Sunni closer to the rest of the family.”
“But there’s no place near your house where I could afford to buy land.” She’d tried not to sound like a petulant child who hadn’t gotten her way.
“If that’s what God wants you to do, He’ll help you find a way.”
She agreed and was sure God had led her to Harmony Creek and the farm. Otherwise, she wouldn’t have uprooted Sunni, leaving behind trusted specialists and physical therapists who worked with her daughter.
Now...
Mercy winced as she entered the kitchen and felt the cold wind that had found its way into the house. Opening the cellar door, she heard silence. Why wasn’t the furnace running?
A quick check of the fuel tank gauge showed it was half-full. Next, she went to the furnace, which was raised up so high off the floor she had to stand on tiptoe to see the dials. Why wouldn’t it start? She tried flipping the emergency switch at the top of the cellar steps.
Nothing.
If possible, it seemed colder when she returned to the kitchen. She needed help. She glanced at the snow sparkling as if stars had fallen along with the flakes. The road twisting through the hollow had vanished. If she called someone, how long would it take them to get to the house?
Her gaze settled on the tenant house. Should she ask Jeremiah to check the furnace? She’d ignored him for three days, but she wasn’t sure who else would be able to help them. She didn’t want Sunni getting sick from the cold.
Before she could talk herself out of it, Mercy reached for the phone, an old avocado-colored unit she’d found in a drawer. She’d hung it on the wall. The long cord allowed her to walk around the kitchen while she talked. She looked at the faded numbers on the wall beside the phone and dialed the one for the tenant house.
“Hello?” Jeremiah sounded astonished to be answering a phone.
She knew many Amish didn’t keep phones in their houses, but had them in the barns or a phone shack shared by multiple families.
“Jeremiah, it is Mercy. Mercy Bamberger.” Who else named Mercy would know he was living at the tenant house?
“Ja. Gute mariye, Mercy.” He sounded awkward and uncertain as he went on. “I hope my work hasn’t disturbed you or Sunni. I—”
Not wanting to let the conversation drag along, she said, “I don’t think my furnace is working. Will you look at it?”
She could almost see him nod before he told her he’d be over in a few minutes. Thanking him, she hung up.
Starting the coffeemaker, she sighed. If Jeremiah took over the farm, he’d strip the electric wires out of the house. She wondered what it’d be like to live without electricity.
A knock on the door told her Jeremiah was as good as his word. Taking a steadying breath, she opened it. She forced a smile, which she hoped looked more welcoming than it felt.
Knocking snow off his boots, Jeremiah stepped inside. He unwrapped a blue-and-green scarf from around his face and let it hang over his shoulders as he unbuttoned his black wool coat. Lifting off his hat of the same fabric, he placed it on the counter near the door.
Her heart beat a bit too fast when she stood close to him again. She’d thought of him as a problem, but with him an arm’s length away, she couldn’t help noticing, as if for the first time, his strong jaw and the intelligence in his compelling blue eyes. As he pulled off worn work gloves, she stared at the nicks on his knuckles and stain on his fingertips. He was a man accustomed to hard work.
Graham, her former fiancé, popped into her mind. A fastidious man, his hands always looked as if he’d just had a manicure. She’d been surprised to discover he had his nails done when he took his mother to the beauty shop. When he’d told her it made Mrs. Rapp happy, Mercy had, at first, seen it as a sign of him caring deeply about others. She hadn’t guessed he’d cared more about his mother than he’d ever care for her.
“Thanks for coming over,” Mercy said, holding out her hand for Jeremiah’s coat.
He handed it to her, and waves of cold washed over her. It must be more frigid outside than in the house. Maybe the furnace hadn’t gone out too long ago and fixing it would be easy.
“What have you done so far?” he asked, combing his fingers through his reddish hair.
“I checked the fuel oil tank.” She set his coat over a kitchen chair. “There’s oil in the tank, so I don’t know what’s wrong.”
“Let me look at it.”
“Thanks!” She motioned toward the cellar door. “It’s down there. I’m hoping it’s something simple.”
“Something simple is about the extent of my skills at fixing furnaces.” He gave her a grin. “Just in case, do you have the name of the person who did furnace servicing for Rudy? It’s probably the same company that delivers oil.”
“I probably can find it. He kept that sort of stuff in his desk.” As coffee finished dripping into the clear pot, she asked, “Do you want a cup?”
“I’ll have one when I’m done.” Without another word, he went to the cellar door and opened it. His work boots, which were as battered as his gloves, thumped on each step.
Mercy heard Jeremiah pull on the chain to the bare bulb near the furnace. Hurrying into the room with Grandpa Rudy’s desk, she grabbed a black shawl from a peg. She threw it over her shoulders, holding it close with fingers as clumsy as a collection of icicles.
The desk was heaped with papers and envelopes her grandfather must have tossed there in the days before he died. For a moment Mercy had to blink back tears. Throughout the mess of the past days, one thing hadn’t changed. She missed Grandpa Rudy, the very person she wanted to turn to now.
Mercy found a receipt from the oil company and was relieved to see it had an emergency service number at the top. Putting it in the pocket of her black apron, she hurried into the kitchen to be ready to call the oil company if Jeremiah couldn’t fix the furnace.
She paused when she heard uneven steps on the stairs to the second floor. Sunni was coming down the stairs without her crutches. Mercy frowned. Her daughter had promised to use them on the stairs. Worse, the little girl had wrapped herself in a blanket that threatened to trip her.
“Sunni, you need to be careful,” she chided gently.
“I was afraid of turning into an ice cube if I waited a second longer,” the little girl said. “Why’s it so cold, Mommy?”
“Something’s wrong with the heat.”
Before Mercy could say more, assertive footsteps came from the cellar steps. She turned to see Jeremiah in the doorway.
Sunni mumbled something under her breath and scowled at Jeremiah.
His gaze followed Sunni when her daughter walked into the living room, her pose beneath the blanket one of disdain. He arched his brows at Mercy.
“Were you able to see what’s wrong with the furnace?” Mercy asked.
“Nothing’s wrong with it.” He wiped his hands on a filthy cloth he must have found in the cellar. “Your fuel oil tank is empty.”
“But I checked the tank before I called you. The gauge said it was half-full.”
“The gauge is broken. The tank is completely dry.”
“I never considered the gauge might be wrong.”
“No reason you should.”
“You did.” She pushed away from the stairs and flinched when the door gave a threatening creak. One disaster at a time. Reaching under her shawl, she pulled the receipt out of her pocket. “I’ll call the oil company’s emergency number and see if they can deliver some oil.”
He glanced out the window. “They won’t be able to get in until the road is plowed.”
As if on cue, the rumble of a big truck could be heard coming toward the house. She saw the huge wing of the plow as it pushed snow in large, thick chunks into the yard. She shuddered, thinking of the heavy work of clearing the driveway. Her car was stored in the rickety garage, and the old-style door opened straight out, so she was going to have to clear a large area there, too.
Mercy made the call to the oil company, who assured her they’d be there before nightfall. Apparently, she wasn’t the only one needing service on the cold day.
“You can’t stay here with Sunni,” Jeremiah said after she hung up. “The house is going to get colder and colder. The tenant house is a bit better, but you’ll get so chilled going over there, it probably won’t make much difference. Isn’t there a fireplace in the living room?”
“Yes.”
“Did Rudy use it?”
When she nodded and Jeremiah offered to start a fire, she was relieved. She found a box of matches in the kitchen junk drawer and followed him into the living room, where he checked the fireplace, looking up at the top of the firebox where the damper opened into the chimney. He drew back, wiping soot from his trousers.
While Sunni watched from the couch, as silent as she was whenever Jeremiah was near, he quickly arranged slabs of wood in the fireplace. Mercy handed him the matches and went to sit with her daughter.
He struck one match and held it to the small bits of paper he’d stuck among the wood. Small flames rose, and Mercy resisted the yearning to hold out her half-frozen hands, knowing there wouldn’t be much heat yet. She needed to wait until the fire caught on the dried wood.
Suddenly, Jeremiah jumped to his feet and staggered. Thick smoke chased him toward the middle of the room.
“Get out!” he yelled.
Chapter Four (#ua922250a-08a6-5606-a2da-abd65c4f1347)
Mercy grabbed Sunni and ran toward the living room door, but paused when she heard a window slide open with the rattle of glass behind her. Jeremiah waved the smoke from the hearth out the window. Snow fell into the house, but he ignored it as he coughed. She put Sunni down and ran into the kitchen. She filled a bucket with water.
He threw the water on the hearth, where it sizzled. He stirred the ashes, making sure the fire was completely out. Then he took the glass of water she offered him. He drained it in one gulp and coughed a couple more times.
“I told you to get out,” he said. “With this dried-out wallpaper, the fire could have spread fast.”
“Why would I leave you here?” she asked, annoyed he treated her as if she were Sunni’s age. “Once I heard you open the window, I knew the smoke would be sucked out.”
“Maybe I was planning to jump out the window. Did you consider that?”
“No.”
He gave her a wry grin. “Neither did I. Once I could see through the smoke, I was able to see the fire was dying out.” He raised a single finger when she started to speak. “But you and Sunni should have gotten out of the house.”
“To freeze in the snow?”
He sighed as fresh air poured into the room, dispersing the smoke. “I thought you said your grossdawdi used the fireplace.”
“He did.” Mercy took the glass from him.
“Recently?”
She shrugged. “I don’t know. I almost always visited during the summer vacation.”
“I suspect debris in the chimney has piled up over time. After it’s cleaned out, there shouldn’t be a problem.” He grimaced. “But right now you need heat.”
“I can turn on the oven and open the door.”
“Gas or electric?”
“Electric. Why?”
“I don’t want you to have to deal with gas fumes.” He gestured toward the kitchen. “You two go into the kitchen. Shut the doors and roll up towels and put them at the bottom. That should keep the heat in as much as possible.”
“How about the fireplace between the kitchen and dining room? There are ashes on the hearth.” She glanced at the smoke stains on the ceiling. “Do you think it’d be safe to try to light that one?”
“Let me check.” He followed her and Sunni into the kitchen.
He knelt by the hearth as she turned on the oven and opened the door, hoping the old stove was up to heating the kitchen. Unlike the one in the living room, the kitchen fireplace was utilitarian. No fancy tiles. Just plain brick turned dark after decades of use. He reached in to check the damper. Paying no attention to the ashes, he stretched out on his back and peered into the chimney.
“It looks open.” Jeremiah got up and knocked ashes off his pants. “Let me try a small fire. Got anything else to burn?”
She grabbed a handful of newspaper from the pile left by her grossdawdi. “How about this?”
“It’ll burn long enough to see if the smoke goes up the chimney or not.”
He cheered and Mercy smiled, giving Sunni’s shoulders a squeeze, when the thin wisp of smoke was drawn up the chimney. Going into the living room, she realized there were only a couple of pieces of wood left. She took them into the kitchen and handed them to Jeremiah.
“You keep the fire going, and I’ll get more wood,” she said.
“Mercy, I can do that. It’s cold outside.” He started to stand.
She put her hand on his shoulder, the motion automatic. But her response to the strong sinews was anything but. Jerking her hand back, she wanted to shake it to stop her skin from tingling.
Somehow she was able to say, “No, you watch the fire. I’ll be right back.”
Racing to the door, she flung it open. She pulled on her boots before she stepped into the deep snow on the porch. Quickly closing the door, she wasn’t fast enough to avoid seeing Sunni’s dismay that Mercy had left her with Jeremiah.
Mercy took a steadying breath as her fingers continued to quiver from the memory of Jeremiah’s shoulder beneath them. Had she lost her mind? It was a big mistake to be attracted to him. Even if he didn’t want her farm, she was still reeling from a broken engagement. On top of that, her daughter didn’t like him.

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