Serenity's Secret, page 1
Praise for Serenity’s Secret
Lisa Jones Baker’s Serenity’s Secret will delight readers of Amish fiction. Serenity and Stephen’s romance is a heartfelt story of love, forgiveness, and second chances. This book has everything readers love—an authentic portrait of the Amish community, the power of grace and hope and, above all, faith in God’s Word and His promises.
~ Amy Clipston, bestselling author of The Heart’s Shelter
You’ll fall in love with Serenity and Stephen. They seem like the perfect couple, but will Serenity’s secrets keep them apart? The intrigue woven through their romance will keep you guessing until the end. A touching story that will bring you closer to the Lord.
~ Rachel J. Good, USA Today bestselling author of the Surprised by Love series
Serenity’s Secret © 2024 by Lisa Jones Baker
Print ISBN 978-1-63609-958-3
Adobe Digital Edition (.epub) 978-1-63609-959-0
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted for commercial purposes, except for brief quotations in printed reviews, without written permission of the publisher. Reproduced text may not be used on the World Wide Web. No Barbour Publishing content may be used as artificial intelligence training data for machine learning, or in any similar software development.
Scripture quotations marked ESV are from The Holy Bible, English Standard Version®, copyright © 2001 by Crossway Bibles, a publishing ministry of Good News Publishers. The ESV® text has been reproduced in cooperation with and by permission of Good News Publishers. Unauthorized reproduction of this publication is prohibited. All rights reserved.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any similarity to actual people, organizations, and/or events is purely coincidental.
Cover Design: Kirk DouPonce, DogEared Design
Published by Barbour Publishing, Inc., 1810 Barbour Drive, Uhrichsville, Ohio 44683, www.barbourbooks.com
Our mission is to inspire the world with the life-changing message of the Bible.
Printed in the United States of America.
DEDICATION
To John and Marcia Baker, my best friends in the world, and to my beloved Buddy in heaven.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
In this story, I heeded numerous resources, and any mistakes are the fault of my own.
To Officer Livingston and Dawn at the Douglas County Jail in Tuscola, Illinois. I’m fascinated by the legal process that ensues every day in jails throughout the U.S. I thank you and admire you for all that you do to keep us safe. You offered a trove of information, and it is my hope that I accurately conveyed that information. Thank you!
Tons of continued gratitude to New York Times bestselling author, the late Joan Wester Anderson, for believing in me and playing a significant role in launching my writing career many years ago. I’ll never forget your kindness.
To Margaret: it is my great pleasure to know you.
To my long-time Amish reviewer who prefers to remain anonymous; thank you.
To Lisa Norato, confidante, true friend, and talented author. You continue to play a strong, supportive role in my writing career.
To bestselling author Amy Clipston and U.S.A. Today bestselling author Rachel J. Good for their wonderful endorsements.
To Dr. Gregory Krauss, MD and Dr. Robert Rosman, MD, my God-sent angels.
To my amazing editor Rebecca Germany, incredible Becky Fish, and everyone at Barbour who played a role in this publication; thank you!
To my esteemed literary agent, Tamela Hancock Murray at the Steve Laube Agency; thanks for your relentless belief in me and my stories over many years.
To my family, my street team, and everyone who continues to read and promote my books, huge thanks!
To Stitch and Sew in Arthur, Illinois, for being a constant source of information.
Last but not least, I’m indebted to my sister extraordinaire Beth Zehr for assisting with numerous computer issues for over three decades at all times of the day and night; I love you so much.
Table of Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
CHAPTER ONE
Only Gott knew her secret. For some reason, it played heavily on her mind today. Serenity Miller wasn’t sure why. Perhaps it was because of the gusty wind that continuously picked up speed and its low, eerie whistle as it met the cracks in her tall, old barn in Arthur, Illinois.
Maybe it was due to the strong flashes of bright lightning that made loud crackling noises. Or the root of her uneasiness could have something to do with the unique smell of rain and damp air—nature’s obvious signals that a May downpour would start any second.
Angel clomped his hooves and unleashed a loud, desperate-sounding whinny. “It’s okay,” she assured him.
She clenched her jaw. Something’s wrong. Storms never bother him. A bright flash of lightning bolted through the small windows and quickly reminded her of her purpose. Get to work. Obviously, there’s not much time. Finish securing the barn and ensure that Angel has enough food, water, and fresh bedding to make it through the night. Close up the chicken coop. Get the clothes off the line and take them inside.
Her neck tensed. While Serenity checked the thick tank hose, which brought in water from the backyard well, Angel’s whinnies and clomping became louder and more desperate.
Serenity reached inside the opened gunny bag, gripped the metal handle of her scoop, and retrieved a generous helping of oat mix. As sweat trickled down her chest, she emptied the grain into a plastic bucket and repeated her action three times until the bucket was nearly full.
Wasting no time, she stepped quickly to the stall’s wooden feeder where her beloved standardbred hovered. With one swift motion, Serenity lifted her bucket and dumped its contents into the trough.
Satisfied that there was plenty of clean straw, she shifted her focus to the larger and deeper wooden trough. When she saw that it contained a sufficient amount of hay, she nodded in satisfaction. The fresh batch, baled just a few weeks ago, had come from the nearby alfalfa field. She breathed in the pleasant, light scent.
Her peripheral vision caught a large black rat scurrying across the cement floor and disappearing into a crack at the side wall. She frowned. That issue will have to wait.
The dim light suddenly darkened a notch, and Serenity reached for the portable, battery-powered lantern, which hung on a hook on the wall, and flipped on the switch.
A strong bolt of lightning illuminated the space on the floor around her, quickly reminding her of her purpose and the short time frame she most likely had to get things done. Oddly, again, her secret drifted back into her thoughts. Thunder crackled. Angel let out an ear-piercing neigh. The wind whistled loudly as it hit the old, large structure. A strong gust coming in through the open entrance stirred straw dust. She closed her eyes a moment to allow them to tear.
I’ve got to finish up and get to my house. She looked down at her scoop and returned it to the bag next to the wall.
Rain hitting the roof alerted her to stop what she was doing and make a dash down the long dirt path to her quaint country dwelling that was some distance away.
Putting her hands on her hips, she pressed her lips together in a determined line. I didn’t check the chickens. The clothes are still on the line.
Again, thunder crackled. She could hear the chickens clucking in the nearby coop.
I think everything’s as secure as it can be.
She offered a final glance at her standardbred and frowned. As she stepped away from the stall, she turned and spoke in a loud voice: “People think I named you inappropriately. It’s no secret that men watch their hind sides when you’re around. But I can only imagine what it was like being abused. That’s why I rescued you. I know what you’ve managed to overcome. And to me, you’re an angel.”
The damp, heavy air forced beads of sweat down her cheeks as she rushed to the large sliding door. At the entrance, she put her finger on the lantern’s on/off button. As she did so, a noise caught her attention.
Serenity stopped and listened for a repeat noise. Instinctively, she sensed that what she’d heard wasn’t a typical barn sound from a rodent or a bird. Or even the occasional banging of the wind blowing loose siding against the structure.
She pressed her finger against her lips. I thought I heard a human noise. It must be my imagination.
She was fully aware of the dire need to get inside her house. But curiosity prompted her to leave the lantern on, turn around, and make her way toward what seemed to be the source of the noise.
I’ll bet it’s the possum that hides under the building. If it is, I need to shoo it out of here before my horse tries to jump the gate and breaks a leg. The last thing I want is for Angel to injure himself.
A strong gust of wind thrust tree branches against the tall structure. Wasting no time, she grabbed the rake from the wall with her free hand to shoo the animal. She headed to the far side of the building.
It was darker near the back because the few windows in this part of the barn were small. She sl
The lantern’s light helped only a little now amid the darkness between the bales. She stopped. Listened. She heard nothing. Then what sounded like balls began hitting the roof. Hail. Looks like I’m stuck here.
Suddenly, she heard a faint noise that seemed to come from the bales. A combination of uncertainty and nervousness prompted her to grip the lantern handle in her right hand so tightly that her knuckles froze in place. Her left hand gripped the rake.
She saw a small beam of light that wasn’t from her lantern. As she stepped between two tall piles of straw, a set of strong hands came from behind, tearing away her rake and her lantern and pinning her arms to her sides, while a different set of hands yanked something over her face, covering her eyes, nose, and mouth.
The tight cloth muffled her screams. She could barely hear herself cry out for help. It was hard to breathe. Her heart pumped so fast and hard she thought it would jump right out of her chest. She shook uncontrollably.
In the background, Angel’s loud protests of neighs and whinnies accelerated. Serenity barely heard a short conversation between two men. It didn’t take long for her legs to give way. She fell to her knees. Her face met the concrete. Pieces of straw poked at her face. As a downpour of rain and hail hit the roof, she closed her eyes. They’re tying my feet.
She couldn’t think straight but silently prayed. Now she understood Angel’s strange behavior. But it was too late. Because she was going to die.
Before sunrise, Stephen Lantz stepped to the side of the blacktop that led from the Lantz house to Serenity’s and walked toward her home. As usual, he made his way to the side entrance. He knocked. And hummed.
No answer. He knocked louder. Still nothing. He turned to face her shed and glimpsed Serenity’s buggy through the large window.
He frowned. He turned the door handle, entered the porch, then opened the door to the kitchen. As he stood inside, he breathed in the pleasant scent of cinnamon. There was no smell of freshly brewed herbal tea. No indication that she’d eaten breakfast.
He respected her privacy. But my instincts tell me something’s wrong. I need to check her house. What if something happened to her? He bit the inside of his cheek and then rushed from room to room, hollering her name.
She’s not inside. I’ll check her barn. He didn’t bother closing the kitchen door as he dashed across the porch and out the screen door, which slammed shut behind him.
She’s probably assessing the storm damage. Quick steps took him up the dirt path that led to her barn. He clenched his jaw.
His heart pumped harder and faster than usual. As he approached the back of Serenity’s property, he pressed his lips in a tense, straight line and focused his efforts on finding the owner of the town’s floral shop, the Pink Petal.
Branches from the large, old oak trees lay ravaged on the ground. Towels and bedding were wrapped around the clotheslines. A large white sheet was in disarray on a tree branch. A light green dress clung to a nearby bush. Something has happened to her. He cupped his mouth with his hands and hollered as loudly as he could: “Serenity!”
Automatically, he opened the shed door and hollered. No answer. He rushed to the barn.
His heart pumped harder … The large sliding door was open. He could hear loud, demanding whinnies and neighs.
When he reached the entrance, he stopped and said an urgent prayer to Gott to find her alive. Then he bounded inside the old structure and stopped, looking all around him. “Serenity!”
The misnamed Angel was going crazy with whinnies and neighs, trying desperately to move the latch on the bar that would allow him access to the building’s main area.
Stephen rushed to the east wall. Then to the west. He cupped his hands to his mouth and shouted, “Serenity! Are you in here?”
He put his hands against his hips and stopped while he eyed the numerous stacked bales of straw and hay near the rear of the barn. Not sure what to expect, he continued shouting her name as he pushed himself between two rows of straw toward the back wall. As he did so, loose straw poked him. He used his elbows to push his way to the end of the row, which narrowed so substantially he could barely get through. At the back, he heard quiet moans of distress.
Behind the bales, he spotted Serenity face down on the floor.
Immediately, he knelt next to her and began to untie the face covering. She fought.
His voice shook when he attempted to reassure her. “It’s okay, Serenity. It’s me. It’s Stephen! I’m going to roll you over so that you’re face up. Here.”
When she was on her back, he continued, “Now I’m untying you. You’re going to be okay.”
His pulse sprinted with an odd combination of relief and despair. When he undid her face covering, he glimpsed horror in her deep blue eyes.
But immediately she gave a sigh of relief. “Stephen! Thank goodness you’re here!”
“I’ll move you onto your side.” After he did so, he undid the tight rope that bound her wrists. “Just give me a minute, and I’ll have you out of this.”
Several tense moments passed while he tried to undo the knot. Then he reached into his trousers pocket and pulled out his work knife. “Hold still. I’ll cut the twine.”
She stayed very still while he worked. The moment the rope was severed, she moved her hands in front of her. He couldn’t help but note that her skin was white and clammy. He quickly ordered her to move her fingers and took her right hand to massage it. “We’ve got to get your circulation back and running.” He pinched her wrist. “Can you feel that?”
“It’s a little numb. But there’s feeling.”
“Gut. Now rub your hands together. Like this. Don’t stop.” While she did that, he used his knife to cut the twine around her ankles.
He removed her black shoes. Her socks. He rubbed her feet. “Is there feeling in your toes?”
“A little.”
He pressed harder and massaged her feet and ankles.
“The sensation’s coming back.”
As he continued relentlessly rubbing her cold feet, he asked, “Are you okay?” Before she could answer, he went on. “I mean, aside from being gagged and tied.”
She nodded while alternately extending her fingers and making fists. Emotion edged her voice. “I thought they were going to kill me.” A grateful breath escaped her before she looked into his eyes. “Oh, Stephen! I’m so glad you’re here!” She leaned forward to hug him. His heart melted. When she released her arms from around his shoulders, she coughed. Then she adjusted her hips on the concrete floor.
“Here.” He stood and supported her. “I’ll help you up.”
When she was on her feet, he wrapped his arms around her and kept them there to support her. And to reassure her. And himself. “Keep wiggling those toes. Keep moving those feet. I won’t let you fall.” He tried to maintain an encouraging tone as he asked, “You think you can stand by yourself?”
“I’m not sure. My right leg tingles.”
He helped her toward the barn’s entrance, although they were quite a distance away.
All the while, he kept an arm around her, and she leaned against him. “Just take slow steps. Hopefully, your circulation is returning. The tingling is a sign that it will.”
With his assistance, she stepped forward. He held on to her tightly for fear that she would fall … and because he never wanted to let her go.
A short silence ensued before she spoke in a hushed voice.
“My head aches. The men who tied me up weren’t gentle.”
With great concern, he motioned her to the nearest lone bale of straw and helped her to sit down. Then he quickly moved to the floor and vigorously massaged each foot, one at a time. While he worked, he glanced up at her.
“While I work on your circulation, you want to tell me what happened? Then I’ll call the police.”
As they looked at each other, a knot stuck in his throat while the enormity of the situation sank in. He took in her disheveled appearance. Her kapp had come off.
Long thick strands of beautiful, wavy blond hair seemed to be everywhere. On her shoulders. On her back. Her creamy, soft-looking cheeks were dirty and bore scratches. Her eyes didn’t show their usual calm-looking, reassuring blue depths. Instead they reminded him of a relentless, turbulent storm.
