A Lancaster County Christmas

By Daisy Fields

Plain Amish Miriam Stoltzfus of Lancaster County, Pennsylvania, has returned from her rumspringa in New York City to spend Christmas with her family, and her rich Englischer boyfriend Mikey is joining them! But with Miriam's mother terrified she's losing her daughter to the big city, and Miriam's pampered socialite boyfriend taking his first steps into understanding Amish life, how Miriam reconcile the two worlds she's trapped between? Can Miriam save her family's Christmas and her budding courtship with Mikey? Find out in this exciting novella by Daisy Fields.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Daisy Fields
• Release date: Jan 18, 2015
• ISBN: 9781507008386

Book preview

The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author or Global Grafx Press, LLC.

Chapter One

Miriam Stoltzfus looked out of her host family’s penthouse window down at the gray skyline. New York City seemed as excited about Christmas as it could possibly be. Everywhere Miriam turned, there were red ribbons, green wreaths, glowing Santa Claus statues that bellowed, Ho, ho, ho! Not to mention glitter and sparkle in all the expensive store windows.

Even after six months, it all still dazzled.

Miriam! a voice called. She turned to find her host mother Pamela, dressed to the nines in designer clothing as always, standing there with two steaming cups of something that smelled absolutely delicious. Jolly songs played in the background on the satellite radio, and the living room table was spread with glossy catalogs, their pages flipped open to gift ideas circled in thick purple marker.

Miriam gratefully accepted one of the mugs and breathed in deeply. It was hot cocoa, made with melted dark chocolate, rich cream, and kosher marshmallows, with a little squirt of raspberry syrup added in. Once Pamela had learned how much Miriam loved raspberries, she’d started finding extra ways to use them, no matter the cost. "Denki—I mean, thank you so much!"

Miriam’s host sister Erin came bounding up, her iPad and a rainbow doll in hand. She wore a pink dress and tights dotted with hearts, and her curly hair had been pulled into pigtails. I like when you say funny things, she announced. Say the word again?

Denki, Miriam repeated, feeling a little self-conscious. The upcoming holiday was making her feel like time had spun backward to six months ago, when she’d first come to the big city on her rumspringa. When she’d been a Plain Amish girl straight out of Lancaster County who had crazy dreams of being an actress. She’d realized quickly just how different the reality was from her dreams, and at first, she just wanted to go back home. But in time, once the culture shock had worn off, she’d come to find she actually liked the city.

Not to mention the boy she’d met. At first blush, it seemed like Mikey and she had very little in common. He was a sophisticated, well-educated, rich New Yorker who happened to be black. Everything had been handed to him on a platter; he got an invitation to any elite events he wanted to attend just by showing up. Miriam had taken to saying that he’d never heard the word no before meeting her, and it was only half a joke.

But she’d learned that underneath his spoiled-boy exterior, he had a heart that was just aching to be loved, and every single time he looked at her, his rich brown eyes lit up with a joy that made Miriam’s own heart swell until she couldn’t believe how dear this boy had become to her.

When they held hands over a movie or explored the city Mikey had taken for granted, Miriam knew he was the one for her. She’d prayed about it, even.

But now, watching Pamela agonize over the perfect, pricey gift for each of her many friends and relatives while homeless people on the street went hungry, Miriam wondered again if they were just being silly. What possible chance could they have of being together when the worlds they came from were so very, very different?

Don’t call it funny, Pamela scolded. It’s another language, just like English and French. She grinned at her daughter. "Dis-moi, ma petite chérie, how do we say ‘gingerbread men’ in French?"

Erin squinted her eyes in concentration. Des bonhommes en pain d’épices.As far as Miriam could tell, her accent was perfect. But the words were completely impenetrable.

It made her realize yet again how much of an outsider to this world she was. Erin had not acquired her French skills from a school in New York City or even a private tutor. No, she had spent a summer in the south of France. Miriam wasn’t exactly sure where that even was.

Bravo! Pamela said, then translated for Miriam’s benefit. Well done!

But Erin wasn’t listening. Her eyes had grown huge in her brown face. Gingerbread men! She tugged at Miriam’s sleeve. You like to bake. Let’s go bake some and ice them in pretty colors. Come on! You, too, Mom!

Still clutching her mug of hot chocolate, Miriam exchanged a helpless chuckle with Pamela as Erin dragged them into the kitchen. It was so different from Miriam’s simple kitchen at home. All the chrome and stainless appliances against the red tile looked like something out of one of Pamela’s interior decorating magazines, not a place where people made food.

But baking was something Miriam knew how to do no matter where she was, and more importantly, it was a piece of Lancaster County she could share with her host family. So she rolled up her sleeves, recalled her mamm’s recipe for gingerbread cookies, and reached for Pamela’s jar of organic white flour.

* * *

Sipping a Coke and munching on blue corn chips and fiery salsa on his penthouse