The Amish of Elkhart County (The Complete Amish of Elkhart County Collection)

By Daisy Fields

Winter has come to Elkhart County, Indiana, and it hasn't treated Amish farmer Abram Schrock well at all. His roof collapsed, his trusted mare Goody died, and his fiancée Mary has run away to Indianapolis. Abram is content to maintain his home and watch the endless snow, but when the community pools its money to buy Abram a new horse, what seems like a simple gift creates a tangled mess as Abram discovers an abandoned boy nearly frozen to death in his barn.

Knowing it's his Christian duty to offer charity, Abram rescues the boy, Owen. Unfortunately, while he wants to return to nursing his broken heart, Abram is forced to work together with the opinionated teacher, Katherine, to care for Owen. Will Abram find his path back to God and life, or will he break down for good?

Meanwhile, Mary finds that her rumspringa in Indianapolis is hardly the joy and relief she thought it would be. She's lonely, and the highlight of her day is her job in a fast-food restaurant. But then she meets a rich Englischer couple at a library book talk, and they quickly introduce her to a whole new world of ideas and opportunities. Will Mary be taken in by all the glitter, or will she stick with her Plain Amish values? Find out in this tense tale of Amish fiction.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Daisy Fields
• Release date: Jun 1, 2014
• ISBN: 9781498941129

Book preview

Shveta Hearts Adrift.jpg

Hearts Adrift

(The Amish of Elkhart County #1)

By Daisy Fields

Copyright 2013 Daisy Fields

All Rights Reserved

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I’ve never seen such a bad winter, Abram Schrock said quietly, shaking his head. He stared at the frozen fields through the window of his neighbor’s house. The snowstorms had ravaged everything, but he could have survived that. Piles of sparkly white powder blanketed the ground, soft and heavy, and for a second, Abram imagined curling up beneath them. He would gather a heap of broken branches as his pillow and sleep until he never woke again.

Even death had to be better than this.

The winter of his twenty-first year had taken everything from him. First, the roof of his house had collapsed beneath the weight of the snow, and while the other men in town had helped repair it as quickly as possible, they couldn’t fix his horse. Trusty, hard-working Goody had taken ill and passed away nearly overnight, carrying off a portion of Abram’s heart with her. They had spent twelve wonderful years together, man and mare, driving the buggy. Her reliable companionship had made the death of Abram’s parents two years earlier a little easier to bear.

But even the loss of Goody could have been borne, especially in light of the collection taken up at Meetings to replace her. Anything could have been borne—except the sudden, inexplicable departure of the woman he loved and had planned to marry.

Dear God, Abram cried out to the uncaring winds, how could You let this happen? Just tell me why! He fell to his knees on the rough wooden floor. What did I do to deserve this?

No answer came. Perhaps Abram had forgotten how to hear. Perhaps he was simply unworthy.

Clearly Mary thought so. Everyone believed it was the Englischer women who were undependable, the ones to flee when the novelty of the Plain Amish way of life wore off—

never one of their own. Certainly not one of the Lambright clan, counted among the most respected families in the Elkhart County community. Not a body had expected steady Mary of the ever-calm green eyes to snap, and yet she had. In the middle of the afternoon exactly four weeks and three days ago, when she had been making candles to sell in the general store, she had suddenly torn off her apron and flung the pot of boiling beeswax she’d been stirring to the floor. I’m done! she had shouted, done with all of this. Her eyes had narrowed at Abram, who looked on in shock. "Done with you."

Then she had stormed out—out of the store, out of Elkhart, out of his life. Out on rumspringa somewhere in Indianapolis, but no one would say where.

And now Abram lived in the dark. Every minute, every hour of the day, even noon was as shrouded in gloom as bitter midnight. Bitter because it marked the start of yet another day without her.

How would he make it to spring, let alone through the rest of his earthly life?

* * *

Friends had let Abram know Mary was safe and had come by a position in a fast-food restaurant. But at her request, they refused to tell him how to find her. She didn’t want to be found, they said, especially not by him.

His Mary, his light and love, working in food service. Serving strangers, possibly handsome young men. Done with him. Done.

Donedonedonedonedone. With him.

The word echoed in his head until he wanted to beat it against the wall of his empty house.

Someone pounded at the front door. Abram! called Jacob Yoder. Abram, let me in!

Abram groaned. He didn’t want to let Jacob in, or anyone else, for that matter. Since God had steadfastly ignored his prayers to take him from this earth, he just wanted to live out his remaining days in silence. Maybe, he thought hopefully, if he didn’t eat, he would force God’s hand.

The thought made him shudder. That was blasphemy, even for him.

Abram! Jacob yelled again. Open the door! The pounding resumed, and Abram’s head began aching in time with it. Thump. Thump. Thump.

I’m coming, he called back. The hoarseness in his voice shocked him. He sounded like an old man.

Jacob continued hammering at the door. Abram cleared his throat and tried again. I said I’m coming! Just stop that noise!

But Jacob didn’t stop until Abram had actually opened the door. His hand was still poised to strike, and Abram flinched. There you are, said Jacob. We’ve left you alone long enough. He pushed his way past Abram. "Goodness, have you done anything since we finished fixing your roof? It looks like someone died in here!"

Abram clenched his fists, then dropped them. Jacob was right; the floor was covering with crumpled papers, dirty dishes, books Abram had started but abandoned when his mind wandered. In the kitchen, a mouse had come through and left its droppings in the cabinets and on the countertop, but that was supposed to be the kitchen where Mary cooked, so Abram hadn’t been able to go inside and clean it up. Or do anything about the spiderwebs on the windowsills.

At least, he thought dryly, someone was enjoying the house with its new roof.

He desperately wanted to shout at Jacob to leave, but before he could say a word, a gaggle of women hurried in. They flocked toward him, making sounds of concern. One ran a finger through the dust on the kitchen table and clucked disapprovingly.

Abram, it’s time for you to rejoin the living, Bishop Miller said. "I’m sorry, but enough is enough. We’ve given you plenty of time to grieve and mourn your loss. Now it is time to move on. We also miss Mary, but life according to the Ordnung must continue."

Abram’s eyes narrowed. Who was this person, any of these people, to come in here and order him around? I’m sorry, Bishop, but surely you notice I didn’t invite any of you in here.

The bishop patted his shoulder. Perhaps I spoke without heart. God knows love is the best gift we can give one another. That is why so many people are here today, Abram. Not only have they secured a new horse for your buggy, but they’ve come to help you reintegrate. You are surrounded by love, and God’s wish for you to is appreciate and honor that gift by returning it.

The words spilled over Abram like so much melted snow. "I don’t want your love, or anybody’s. I just want to be left alone."

The woman who had clucked approached him. It was Mary’s Aunt Martha. Enough, young man, she snapped. You may not realize how fortunate you are to be part of this community, but you will. And right now, you will get out of our way so that we can turn this disgusting pigsty back into a home!

She nudged Abram to one side and began scrubbing the table with a cloth she’d produced from within her skirts. The other women exchanged looks and got to work, too.

Jacob took Abram by the elbow and pulled him out the front door. Their shoes crunched on the frosted doorstep. It was an odd relief to be standing amidst the last of the snowfall while all those people invaded his house. He didn’t want to admit it, but it felt good to be cared for.

What’s wrong with you, man? Jacob demanded, shaking Abram’s arm. Why are you being so rude?

Is it rude to want to be left alone? Abram countered. He jerked his arm from Jacob’s grasp.

When you are spurning the people who care about you, yes. We live in a community, and that community cannot function if we don’t all participate. And you, my friend, have not been participating for some time now.

"You try having everything you loved taken from you before your twenty-second year, and we’ll see how well you handle it." Abram crossed his arms over his chest. He certainly wasn’t about to let Jacob see how hurt he was.

Look, I’m not saying I would be any stronger than you. Heedless of the snow, Jacob sat down on the stoop. I’m sorry Mary left you, I am. When Abram started to speak, Jacob held up a hand. Hear me out, my brother. I’m very sorry she did, and I can only imagine how awful that must have been. You have lost a lot in your short lifetime, I grant you that, and a man’s heart can only brush off so many lashes before he bleeds out. But you’re not dead yet, Abram, and you have to face that.

To his surprise and embarrassment, tears sparked in Abram’s eyes, and a huge lump burned in his throat. Being called brother . . . he didn’t even have anyone he shared blood with in the world, not since his mamm was unable to bear any more children after him. Mary was supposed to be his family now. How could Jacob possibly understand? Jacob had siblings and always would. Part of Abram reviled him for that.

Abram dropped to his knees and covered his face. He didn’t want to weep, not now, not with all these people nearby. But the tears pooled until they spilled over and down his cheeks, and a sob tore from his throat. The pain he’d nursed in his chest these last few months roared to the surface, like fire burning through his body. If only it would consume him completely . . .

Mary’s face flashed in his mind. It wasn’t a typically beautiful face, but he had loved it, the sharpness of her chin, the field green of her eyes, the patient curve of her smile. He had especially loved bringing that smile to her face, the way she would calmly suffer his silly jokes and ridiculous suggestions. She was just what an Amish woman should be, or so he’d thought.

Mary! Oh, Mary, why did you leave me? I love you so much!

Jacob put a strong hand on Abram’s shoulder. Cry, brother. It’s all right. Cry, and pray for guidance. Your life isn’t over yet.

Awash in his private ocean of pain, Abram seized on that bit of advice. Dear God, he prayed frantically, help me. If I must live, if You refuse to let me die, at least help me find my path.

He sobbed and shuddered until there was nothing left in him. His eyes burned, his lungs ached, and his nose streamed. Jacob wordlessly handed him a tissue and let him blow his nose in peace.

The sun shone down from an icy blue sky, making Abram think of blown glass. Mary had been the one to whet his interest, telling him how much she adored things crafted from glass. To please her, he had taken courses in the art, but to everyone’s shock, he found he loved it. He was a natural glassblower!

It was just another thing he had let slide lately, but as he watched the movement of clouds through the sky, the memory felt like a bittersweet nudge from God. He wasn’t quite ready to listen to it, though, not when he still had to look at the bouquet of flowers he’d made her, which she had left behind.

Oh, Mary . . .

Well? asked Jacob expectantly. What are you going to do?

I don’t know, Abram said. The words came out shaky but sincere. I really don’t. I know you’re right, that life has to go on, but Jacob, I don’t—I don’t know if I’m ready.

Jacob leaned back on his heels and smiled. That’s nonsense, Abram. You’ll never be more ready than now.

Was he right? Abram had to wonder. But then he imagined Mary off in the big city, courting rich, good-looking men, doing all the things her old life had supposedly held her back from. His stomach clenched. She certainly wasn’t sitting around pining for him!

I guess there’s something to that, he admitted, nervously adjusting the angle of his wide-brimmed hat. I suppose you’re right, after all.

Then it’s settled! Bishop Miller announced, appearing out of nowhere and clapping his hands. The sound made Abram jump to his feet. "There are plenty of wonderful women for you to choose from in Elkhart, women who are content to follow the Ordnung and remain in our community. I’ll get started talking to them."

"Wait, what?" Abram protested, but Bishop Miller talked right over him, addressing Jacob about possible matches.

How had that happened? Abram was nowhere near being ready to court again, and he didn’t think he ever would be. But that didn’t appear to matter as the two men chattered excitedly. It was as though Abram weren’t even there.

He’d thought they meant his glassblowing ambitions. It was an unusual attraction for an Amish town, and he had planned to be the one to bring it to theirs—and by extension, tourism.

And maybe he still should.

Since no one was paying attention to him, Abram slipped off into the snow, walking as quietly as he could, and then ran.

* * *

Mary wiped her eyes and tried to swallow the lump in her throat. It was hard out here, harder than she’d ever imagined. The Englischers were just strange, even the ones who wanted to be nice. They seemed to think she was the odd one, funnily enough, with her modest dresses and kapp. Some had even mocked her openly, and one boy, maybe fifteen or sixteen years old, had tried to rip it off her head.

That had not gone well.

Luckily, Mary had been able to replace the kapp with a hat as part of her Burger King server uniform. It felt so strange to wear pants and the ugly shirt, but in a way, it was nice, too.

She was so tired of people stepping on her and telling what to do. That was why she had left home in the first place, to get away from it. She’d never even gotten to go on rumspringa, and everyone expected her not to mind, from her mamm and daed to Bishop Miller to her own friends. No one had thought she might possibly feel trapped and curious about the world beyond Elkhart, Indiana.

Why would they? Either they had gone out into the Englischer world and found it lacking, or they didn’t care enough to bother. Which left Mary with no one to talk to. So she’d pasted a smile on her face and continued doing what everyone expected of her. She was to marry Abram Schrock, be a good wife to him, perhaps find a trade to help bring in some money, and bear him children whom she took to prayer meetings and taught the ways of being Amish. The end.

Except it wasn’t. She wouldn’t let it be.

So the day two months ago when Abram made a silly joke about the seven children they would have together, one after the other like