A Practical Amish Man

By Hannah Winstone

Marcus is a shunned and depressed man who returns to his Amish hometown for his daughter's wedding...He finds his spirit being lifted by a woman that he meets there...but will the townsfolk let him back in after what he did so many years ago?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Trellis Publishing
• Release date: Jul 16, 2021
• ISBN: 9798201349080

Book preview

A PRACTICAL AMISH MAN

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HANNAH WINSTONE

TABLE OF CONTENTS

A PRACTICAL AMISH MAN

A LITTLE BIT OF AMISH FAITH

MELISSA

Marcus Kauffman was a practical man - or at least, he liked to think so.  Few things truly got to him, most problems tackled sensibly. Yet as he stood by his car, gazing across to the old, familiar house, he couldn't help but want to ignore the tense feeling in his stomach, climb back into his car, and drive the four hours back home.

This isn't permanent, he told himself, only until the wedding.

It didn't make him feel better in the slightest. Not only had he not seen his daughter in five years, but he hadn't even met her fiance. His stomach rolled as he thought about the possibilities, mulling over the options. If she was marrying any of the men she had known in her youth - well, it didn't bear thinking about.

Movement inside. The curtains peeled back to reveal a freckled face, then pounding footsteps in the hall. Not a moment later a tall figure threw open the front door, tripping over her thick skirt, and flung herself at him.

Marcus barely caught her, stumbling backward and almost tripping over the uneven cobbled pavement. Imlah! His gasp was a half-laugh as he set her down, but she clung to him like a child. Well he supposed, it had been five years. 

When Imlah finally pried herself away, Marcus finally had a good look at her. She was tall - always had been, but now she was almost as tall as him. Her round face had thinned out, but still kept those full cheeks and pointed chin. She looked more like her mother than she did Marcus, and it made him smile. 

I missed you, Dad, Imlah murmured, but she was grinning from ear to ear, I wasn't sure you'd even received the invitation. Or, you know, that you'd come... Her smile turned nervous then, eyes flickering to the ground.

Of course I came, Marcus assured with his best smile. It hurt, knowing she doubted him - but after what happened, he supposed it was natural. He had left her, and at only eighteen years old she had still been so young. Sighing, Marcus ran a hand through his dark hair. Five minutes in and already he had ran out of words.

But Imlah, always a ray of sunshine, simply tugged his sleeve and gestured toward the house. "My fiance is inside, and I can't wait for you to meet each other. I've already made tea - milk and one sugar, just how you like it." She all but dragged him inside, hand still tugging at his shirt, and Marcus was helpless to resist.

The house - which had been his, before he moved away - was exactly as he remembered it. He tread across familiar carpet, passed familiar wallpaper and the same sideboard that had been there since before Imlah was born. Even the kitchen was the same, right down to the old wooden dining table and mismatched chairs. Imlah passed right by, peeking her head through the pantry door. Lucas? My dad's here.

Hushed whispers passed between Imlah and her unseen fiance. Marcus shifted, feeling foreign and out of place in his own home, head turned away so he couldn't be mistaken for an eavesdropper. Eventually Imlah sighed, rolled her eyes, and plopped down onto her favourite dining chair.

A man appeared from the walk-in pantry. He was tanned and freckled, suggesting some kind of outdoor job, and his chestnut hair was as sunkissed as his skin. He had a pleasant face, with thick eyebrows and a well maintained bear. It was then that Marcus realised he was scowling, thick brows pulled down to shade his deep set eyes. You must be Marcus.

He couldn't help the little frown of his own that curled at his lips. Yet he kept civil, sending Imlah a curious look as he replied, yes, that's me. It's good to meet you. Letting his eyes swivel back to the fiance, Marcus held out a hand.

It went unshaken. The man huffed, I'm Lucas, and shoved past him to reach the table. He lifted a mug - coffee, Marcus noted - and didn't even offer to pass over the remaining mug that must have been for Marcus. 

Imlah's lips pursed, and she sent him a sympathetic look - and then rounded on Lucas. "Couldn't you at least try to be nice? she demanded. At such a height she surely had a presence, but she was still dwarfed by Lucas' broad shouldered and even more impressive height. Not that it stopped her. You knew he was coming and I told you to be respectful." She rose to her feet, hands on hips, and Lucas relented.

Sighing, Lucas set down his mug. Dark hair partially shielded his face, but he at least managed to look somewhat apologetic. His voice was rough as he said, I just want Imlah to be happy. For whatever reason, having you here for the wedding is what she wants. Just... don't ruin this for us, all right?

Marcus didn't plan on it, not at all, and a pang of hurt struck him at the thought. Yet as much as he hated to admit it, Lucas had a point. Uneasiness squirmed in his stomach at the admittance, but he couldn't ignore it. He hadn't seem Imlah in so long, did he even have the right to call himself her father any more?

"...get your