Their Amish Secret, page 1
Her heart stopped for what seemed an eternity...
...and then hammered hard to catch up as her head spun. She put a hand on the wall to steady herself.
“Claire,” Joel said. His hat was sodden, and his shoulders were wet, too. He even had a drip of water hanging off the tip of his nose, and he wiped at it with the back of one hand. “I didn’t know if it would really be you...”
“Joel,” she whispered.
“Could I come in?” he asked. “It’s, um, rather wet out here.”
A gust of wind brought a wet slap with it as if to prove his point, and Claire finally stepped back to let him inside. Gloria and Ted looked up in mild curiosity.
“I know you weren’t expecting me,” he said quietly, keeping to Pennsylvania Dutch. “And I’m sorry if I’m an unpleasant surprise. I just... I was asking around about you, and when I heard that there was a basket weaver named Claire, I got my hopes up.”
“You left,” she said, her voice tight.
“Yah. There’s a story there.”
Patricia Johns is a Publishers Weekly bestselling author who writes from Alberta, Canada. She has her Hon. BA in English literature and currently writes for Harlequin’s Love Inspired and Heartwarming lines. She also writes Amish romance for Kensington Books. You can find her at patriciajohns.com.
Books by Patricia Johns
Love Inspired
Amish Country Matches
The Amish Matchmaking Dilemma
Their Amish Secret
Redemption’s Amish Legacies
The Nanny’s Amish Family
A Precious Christmas Gift
Wife on His Doorstep
Snowbound with the Amish Bachelor
Blended Amish Blessings
The Amish Matchmaker’s Choice
Harlequin Heartwarming
Amish Country Haven
A Deputy in Amish Country
A Cowboy in Amish Country
Her Amish Country Valentine
Visit the Author Profile page at LoveInspired.com for more titles.
Their Amish Secret
Patricia Johns
My grace is sufficient for thee:
for my strength is made perfect in weakness.
—2 Corinthians 12:9
To my husband and son—you’re both at the center of my world. I love you!
Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Epilogue
Dear Reader
Excerpt from The Quilter’s Scandalous Past by Patrice Lewis
Chapter One
Rain drummed on the roof and drove in sheets past the kitchen window. The weather report for Redemption, Pennsylvania, this week had called for rain, but it was coming down in buckets out there.
Claire Glick sat at the head of the table, her basket-weaving supplies in front of her. Today, she was teaching a middle-aged couple, Gloria and Ted Wassel, how to weave a simple basket using willow wands. She’d soaked the wands for six days and let them sit outside for one final day before her guests arrived. The wood was flexible now and perfect for weaving. This was Claire’s special skill—creating useful, beautiful baskets.
“This is tough on the hands, isn’t it?” Gloria rubbed her knuckles.
“It can be,” Claire agreed. “I think my hands are used to it. But many people find the process therapeutic. You have to be very much in the present with your basket, and it helps to bring peace and calm to a troubled mind.”
“I’d heard the same thing,” Gloria said with a wistful smile cast in her husband’s direction. Ted raised his bushy eyebrows but didn’t say anything.
“You seem quite wise for being so young,” Gloria said.
“People say that. I’m twenty-five.” Claire smiled. It was her hard-won maturity that she was hoping would make Adel Knussli hire her full time as manager of the bed-and-breakfast. But she was still proving herself.
“Now, how do I do the rim again?” Gloria said.
“We twist the wand around the top and through this gap here—” Claire said.
Gloria leaned forward, as did her husband, and they both watched closely as Claire demonstrated the technique that created a lip around the edge of the basket. She tugged the wooden whip tight and pulled it hard into a V created by crossed wands.
“And then, once it’s nice and tight, you do—” Claire picked up the clippers and nipped off the last of the willow wand “—that. And then the next wand...”
Claire had found weaving provided peace for her own troubled mind when she was faced with those silent, lonely nights when her son was asleep. Aaron was conceived before she or his father were baptized into the Amish faith, and raising him alone hadn’t been easy. Amish life wasn’t set up for single mothers. Friends like Sarai Peachy, who was close to her age, were wonderful company during the days when she could find the time to socialize, but they weren’t here in the evenings when she was left alone with her thoughts. Writing letters to her family only took up so much time, and when she’d put as much into words as she cared to, she’d sit down with willow wands, or grape vines, straw or even water reeds, and she’d start to create something beautiful. It soothed her mind—gave her something to do with her hands when she seemed most apt to travel down memory lane and go over her regrets one by one.
Claire could hear the sound of the dog’s toenails against the floorboards upstairs, and Aaron’s footsteps, too, as she twisted the second wand around, pushed it through the gap and pulled on it hard to give it a tight fit. Then she clipped it off and handed the basket back to Gloria for her to continue. Gloria took the next wand and bent it the same way. She had caught on to the process quickly, like a natural.
Claire’s four-year-old son came down the stairs, a big German shepherd trailing closely behind. Normally during her basket-weaving classes, Aaron would go outside to play, but the downpour made that impossible, so instead she had her little boy, the dog at his side, peering at the Englisher couple’s work.
“That one needs to be tighter, right, Mamm?” Aaron pointed at one of the wands Ted had twisted over the top of his basket.
“Yah, a little tighter,” Claire agreed, then she added in Pennsylvania Dutch, “But I told you to let me teach my students in peace.”
“Sorry.” Aaron sighed. He turned his attention to the dog. “Goliath, sit.”
“Goliath” simply looked at him.
“Sit, Goliath.”
“His name is Ollie, remember?” Claire put a spare wand onto the counter. “We have to return him to his owners.”
“He’s Goliath to me.” Aaron looked plaintively over at the German shepherd.
The dog wandered away toward the window and put his nose up next to the glass. Goliath was a stray they’d found on the property of Draschel Bed and Breakfast two weeks ago. He didn’t seem to know Pennsylvania Dutch, which made no difference to Aaron, who chattered at him in Dutch anyway. Goliath had grown rather fond of Aaron, and Aaron had become attached to the dog.
“Do we really have to give him back?” Aaron asked for the umpteenth time.
“Yah. The owners put out the flyer, and they want their dog back. I’ll call the number this evening at the phone booth and tell them we’ve found him.” Claire turned her attention back to Gloria and switched to English again. “Nicely done! You’re almost finished. And Ted, that looks very good, too.”
Ted’s basket wasn’t quite so straight as his wife’s. His was more lopsided, so Claire took hold of it and gave it a strong twist to even it out. Basket weaving was a skill that required muscle and an unshakable belief in one’s own vision. Perhaps that was why it appealed to her so much. In the Amish world, a woman should be soft, gentle. In basket weaving, she got to experiment with the tougher side of her nature.
There was a knock on the door, and Claire handed Ted back his basket with a smile and headed over to answer it. Her mind was still on the Wassels and their basket making. She opened the door and gave a polite smile to the man standing on her step. A hitched buggy stood with the horse under the stable shelter behind him, and he was already drenched from the downpour.
He was Amish—tall, lean, and with one arm looking noticeably thinner than the other. For a moment, she didn’t know who he was, and she was about to step back, ushering him inside out of the rain. It was then that she noticed a scar over one eyebrow. She dragged her gaze back up to his face, and she recognized him now. It was him—Joel Beiler—albeit much changed.
Her heart stopped for what seemed an eternity and then hammered hard to catch up as her head spun. She put a hand on the wall to steady herself.
“Claire.” Joel’s hat was sodden, and his shoulders were wet, too. He even had a drip of water hanging off the tip of his nose. “I didn’t know if it would really be you...”
“Joel,” she whispered.
“Could I come in?” He wiped the drip off his nose with back of his hand. “It’s...um...rather wet out here.”
A gust of wind brought a wet slap
“I know you weren’t expecting me,” he said quietly, keeping to Pennsylvania Dutch. “And I’m sorry if I’m an unpleasant surprise. I just... I was asking around about you, and when I heard that there was a basket weaver named Claire, I got my hopes up.”
“You left,” she said, her voice tight.
“Yah. There’s a story there.”
There must be, because he hardly looked like the muscular, jocular Joel the other young men had called “a quarter horse of a man” whom she remembered from five years ago. This man was thin, almost like he’d missed too many meals, and he had a limp and one arm that seemed to respond sluggishly. That wasn’t the powerful man she remembered.
Joel’s gaze moved over to Aaron, who eyed him curiously. Goliath’s hackles went up, and he let out a low growl.
“I’m teaching a class,” she said abruptly. “I need to finish with them before we discuss anything.”
“Right, right...” Joel paused. “Of course. I could just have a seat by the stove.”
He waited for her to nod permission, then headed over to the woodstove and held his hands out to it. Water from his hat dripped onto the stove top, hissing as it turned into steam. Claire sucked in a stabilizing breath. Goliath—or Ollie, but they’d been calling him Goliath for two weeks before she found the flyer—set himself solidly between Aaron and the new arrival, and Claire felt a little bit better about their overprotective canine guest.
Claire went over to the table and rejoined Gloria and Ted.
“It’s looking very good!” Claire said, forcing some cheer into her voice and handing the clippers to Ted. Her hands trembled, and she hoped it wasn’t noticeable. “Now, just snip off the ends.”
Ted did as she told him, and he smiled as he looked at his finished result. Claire stole a peek over at Joel, who stood by the stove still, his back to her. He had all his weight on one leg—his good leg. She could tell that he favored one side of his body, and one hand hung at his side in an almost limp fashion. But then he clenched a fist, as if he could feel her gaze on it.
“Basket weaving is quite the experience,” Ted said. “My wife has been asking to take one of your classes for months, and I’m glad we finally did it. Thank you for giving us this opportunity, Claire.”
Ted’s attention moved toward the window, where the storm had not let up. The sky was growing darker by the minute. Gloria clipped the last of her willow wands and set the basket down on the table, looking at it from one side and then the other.
Joel glanced over his shoulder and met Claire’s gaze. She felt her face heat, and she looked away from him.
“This is amazing, Claire,” Gloria said. “I have to agree with my husband. This has been a real treat. You’ve made this such a great experience.”
Claire smiled. “I’m glad. The baskets are yours, of course, and I’m so glad you enjoyed your time with me today. I have some baked goods to go home with you.” She scooped up two plastic bags that contained a few cookies each and brownies. She put them into their baskets with a smile she hoped looked natural.
“Oh, thank you!” Gloria said. “How sweet of you. This is really great. Ted, we should probably start home, don’t you think? This storm is so much worse than the weather channel called for.”
Everyone looked toward the window then, and Ted reached for his coat hanging on a hook.
“I think we should, Gloria. Thank you again, Claire! We’ll give you some shining reviews online.”
“And we’ll tell all our friends about this place.” Gloria grabbed the baskets.
They put on their jackets and picked up a big umbrella they’d shared when they arrived. They pressed their shoulders together as they ducked outside, then the umbrella popped up over their heads. Claire smiled and held the door as the couple pushed out into the driving rain. Her gaze moved toward Joel’s buggy and horse, still hitched, standing underneath the protective shelter attached to the stable. The Wassels jumped into their car, and the headlights came on as it rumbled to life. They waved, and she waved back, then shut the door as they started to back up.
Claire slowly turned.
“You teach basket weaving now?” Joel asked.
“I do.”
“You always did make beautiful baskets.”
“Yah, there’s a market for it.” Her voice sounded breathy in her own ears. She swallowed and turned to her son. “Aaron, sweetie, can you take Goliath upstairs and play in your room for a while?”
“You called him Goliath.” Aaron shot her a victorious smile.
“I did, but it doesn’t change that he still doesn’t rightfully belong to us, son,” she said firmly. “Now, upstairs to play, please.”
“Can I have a brownie?” he asked.
Claire handed him a plastic baggie with a brownie inside. “Don’t leave crumbs.”
She said it more out of habit than actual thought.
“Goliath eats the crumbs.” Aaron smiled and mounted the stairs, the dog loyally following behind him. Goliath might not answer to the name or know Pennsylvania Dutch, but he had settled on Aaron as his human of choice.
When Claire heard her son’s footsteps grow fainter, she met Joel’s gaze, and her strength seemed to seep out of her. Joel Beiler...on her doorstep. How many times had she thought about this possibility as she lay in bed at night, imagining this very scenario?
“Why now?” She leaned weakly against the counter. “You promised me you’d be back within a matter of weeks five years ago. And you never came. I waited and waited, and I believed you’d come. Month after month! I faced my community’s censure. I faced my parents’ disappointment when I was pregnant and had no husband...and you were just gone!”
Joel’s gaze flickered toward the stairs. “I heard that the Claire Glick who made baskets had a little boy. I wasn’t sure...”
“Yah, he’s yours. I gave birth to our son, and I kept looking my neighbors in the face, all the while knowing they were using me as a morality tale for their children. At least I wasn’t baptized yet, so I didn’t get shunned, but I did it all alone! And now you come back?”
“I didn’t know you were pregnant,” he said.
“So, if I hadn’t been carrying your baby, you disappearing would have been fine?” She shook her head. “You promised to marry me, Joel! You said you’d never loved anyone like me before. You said you couldn’t imagine spending your life with any other woman. You said a lot of things...and it counted for nothing.”
And somehow, deep in those dark eyes, she still saw the same Joel of five years ago—handsome, funny, strong...and maybe just a little too good to be true, because he hadn’t lived up to any of it.
“So he is my son.” Joel’s eyes suddenly misted.
“Do you think I’m the type of woman to have had a son by someone else?” she demanded. “Yah, he’s yours! But I won’t be telling him that.”
“I heard enough about you that I was relatively certain...” His chin trembled slightly. “And the timing...it added up. You said his name is Aaron?”
“Yah. Aaron.”
“Are you two okay?” Joel asked. “Do you have enough?”
“The owner of this bed-and-breakfast is allowing me to run it temporarily,” Claire said. “If she allows me to be the permanent, live-in manager, then yes, I’ll be fine. What I make from basket-weaving classes and managing this place will take care of us.”
“Maybe I could stay for a day or two,” Joel said. “I could pay for a few nights here at the bed-and-breakfast. We have a lot to catch up on, and I’d like to get to know my son.”
He wanted to get to know Aaron, and then he’d leave...like Goliath was going to leave, too. Aaron was saying too many goodbyes already in his young life, and she wouldn’t put him through an unnecessary one. Her heartbreak over this man didn’t have to be Aaron’s, too.
“No.” She shook her head.
“Oh...” Joel licked his lips. He seemed to have expected a different answer. “Is there any way I can come by and see the two of you again? I know you’re angry with me, Claire, but for Aaron’s sake.”
