Amish Sleigh Bells, page 1
“Do you...like this?” she asked hesitantly.
“Driving a sleigh?” he asked.
“Yah.”
He chuckled. “I do like it. It’s...a really different experience. I guess you can get used to anything, but I see the allure of horse-drawn vehicles.”
“It’s a nice thing that it takes more time to get places,” she said. “In your truck, it would probably take five minutes to get to the B and B. But in a sleigh on the back roads, it’s twenty minutes at least.”
“Is the nice part more time with me?” Thad teased.
Her cheeks pinked. “More time to think, Thad. More time to prepare yourself, or to pray before you arrive somewhere.”
“Right, of course.”
She did have a point about slowing down the hustle and bustle of life. It was calmer, slower, and if he had any anxiety, it would drift away on a sleigh ride like this one.
“That’s not to say that more time to talk with a friend isn’t nice, too,” she added after a beat or two of silence.
He cast her a rueful smile. “I agree.”
Patricia Johns is a Publishers Weekly bestselling author who writes from Alberta, Canada, where she lives with her husband and son. She writes Amish romances that will leave you yearning for a simpler life. You can find her at patriciajohns.com and on social media, where she loves to connect with her readers. Drop by her website and you might find your next read!
Books by Patricia Johns
Love Inspired
Amish Country Matches
The Amish Matchmaking Dilemma
Their Amish Secret
The Amish Marriage Arrangement
An Amish Mother for His Child
Her Pretend Amish Beau
Amish Sleigh Bells
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
The Butternut Amish B&B
Her Amish Country Valentine
A Single Dad in Amish Country
A Boy’s Amish Christmas
Visit the Author Profile page at LoveInspired.com for more titles.
Amish Sleigh Bells
Patricia Johns
But while he thought on these things, behold, the angel of the Lord appeared unto him in a dream, saying, Joseph, thou son of David, fear not to take unto thee Mary thy wife.
—Matthew 1:20
To my husband and son. You are my whole 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
Chapter Thirteen
Epilogue
Dear Reader
Excerpt from A Husband for an Amish Bride by Christina Rich
Chapter One
The wind howled outside the window, whistling past the house in a shimmer of icy, blowing crystals that glittered in the watery December sunlight. Inside the house, all was toasty warm, though, with the stove pipe pinging merrily, and the logs in the black potbellied stove snapping and popping.
Lydia Speicher pushed a steaming mug of black coffee across the worn, scratched wooden tabletop toward her father, who had his arms crossed irritably over his chest.
“The bishop says that Thad Miller is an Amish man who needs our help,” she said. “And I agreed to help him.”
Lydia had gratefully agreed to help him. She loved her parents dearly, but life was getting so predictable lately, and even with Christmas approaching, she’d found herself a little depressed. It wasn’t easy being a single woman in her thirties in their community that was so centered on marriage and family.
“He’s Beachy Amish,” her father muttered, picking up the mug and taking a noisy sip. “That hardly counts—they’re just Amish enough to know better.”
The Beachy Amish lived very differently from Redemption, Pennsylvania’s Old Order Amish. Beachy Amish drove cars and trucks, they had electricity in their homes, and stopped short at TV and radio. They even had internet, although it was limited. The shocking number of concessions to the world’s conveniences never ceased to amaze and disappoint Art Speicher, and he had very strong opinions on the matter.
“We need a veterinarian in the community,” Lydia’s mother, Willa, reminded her husband. “And Dr. Ted is gone for a while to see his daughter. People still need a vet.” Willa took a sip from her own mug of coffee—hers taupe with cream. “And we happily use Englisher veterinarians and doctors and dentists...there’s no real difference if he’s English or he’s Beachy Amish. Not to you and me, at least. This man is a large animal vet in our community, and he needs help finding the farms he’s servicing.”
“Except the Englishers don’t call themselves Amish,” her father retorted. “Even Paul doesn’t call himself Amish.”
Willa’s lips pressed together in a thin, disapproving line at the mention of their oldest son, who’d jumped the fence and gone English, and Lydia’s gaze darted between her parents. Her daet didn’t like this arrangement much with Lydia helping the Beachy Amish veterinarian, but when Bishop Glick asked, who was Art Speicher to argue?
Outside, an engine rumbled to a stop, and Lydia peeked out from behind the curtains. The driver’s side door of a silver, slightly rusted pickup truck opened and a man stepped out into the snowy cold. He was tall, broad shouldered, and had a felt hat on his head, but the hat was fancier than they normally had in these parts. It looked more like a black felt cowboy hat than a proper Amish hat, and while he wore dark-colored pants and suspenders visible beyond an open black woolen coat, the pants weren’t broadfall, and his shirt was a startling blue plaid.
“Oh my...” her mother murmured behind her. “Very fancy, indeed.”
Lydia had been asked by the bishop to help Dr. Thad Miller find the local farms he’d be serving for the next couple of weeks. Thad didn’t know the area, and having directions like “turn west where the old silo used to be” weren’t terribly helpful to someone who hadn’t lived in the community all his life, and especially not in December when all the fields looked the same under a mantle of snow.
The man looked around, spotted them in the window, and raised his ungloved hand in a wave. He was an attractive man who looked to be in his thirties like Lydia was. He had blue eyes—she noticed from here—and the boots on his feet looked to be scuffed cowboy boots. He was the most scandalous man in suspenders she’d seen in her life.
But he also looked kind, and she approved of kindness. Truly kind people could be found just about anywhere.
“I’d best go introduce myself,” Lydia said, and she slipped past her mother and headed to the side door. She slid into her coat and stepped into her boots. Before she opened the door, she picked up her carpet bag that contained her latest crochet project she was working on—just in case there were some slow times while she waited. She might as well make her time count.
“Good morning!” he called in perfect Pennsylvania Dutch. “I’m Thad Miller. The bishop said there was someone named Lydia who could guide me around these back-country roads. Is she home?”
“I’m Lydia,” she said, and she found herself feeling just a little bit bashful with this large, good-looking man. It would be easier if he was a little less...everything!
“Good to meet you.” Thad held out a hand to shake hers and Lydia stared at him, stunned.
“We don’t do that,” she said.
“Do what?” He dropped his hand.
“Amish women don’t shake hands with men.”
“Sorry.” Thad smiled ruefully. “There are a few differences, I know. I’ll get used to it.”
“It’s okay,” she said. “But I wouldn’t be offering to shake hands with any of the wives you meet out here. They won’t like it. And neither will their husbands.”
“I’ll remember that.” He did up his coat halfway, the cold seeming to get to him now that he was outside of his still-running vehicle. He was smooth shaven, which probably meant he was single, but with the Beachy Amish, no one could be too sure.
The side door opened and Art appeared on the step with his own coat on. Her father stroked his full gray beard. “Good morning.”
“Good morning!” Thad said, and he headed over and shook Art’s hand firmly. “I’m Thad Miller.”
“Art Speicher.”
“Nice to meet you. I’m Dr. Ted’s new assistant. I’m covering his time away, and when he comes back I’ll be working with him. So you might see me around. I’ve heard good things about you folks—how neighborly you are, and how helpful.”
Art muttered something and cleared his throat. Lydia couldn’t help but smother a smile. It was going to be a whole lot harder for her father to be un-neighborly with that kind of introduction. Besides, Thad was offering something different to do with her days instead of her usual housework and crochet. And he would b
“I’d like to see where you’ll be taking my daughter today,” Art said.
“Of course.” Thad pulled out a piece of paper. “I’d expect nothing less. But as you know, the bishop can vouch for me, and so can my home congregation. I come with the good opinion of my church, and a degree in veterinarian medicine.”
Art pursed his lips, unimpressed.
“I’m visiting only one farm this morning,” Thad went on, passing the page over, “and then I’ll drop Lydia back off. It’s Jake Knussli’s place.”
Adel, Jake’s wife, was the community matchmaker. What would Adel think of Lydia tagging along with this handsome Beachy Amish man? She wasn’t sure!
“That’s it?” Art asked. “I thought the bishop said you’d be working hard, not hardly working.”
Thad gave a half smile as if expecting it to be a joke, but Art didn’t even crack a smile. Normally when her father used that line, he was joking. But Lydia knew her father. He could be difficult when it came to his deeply held opinions, and she silently prayed that he wouldn’t embarrass her.
Thad chuckled all the same. “Right... Actually, after that I head back to the clinic. There’s paperwork to do, and possibly some cultures to start processing. There are a few clinic appointments, too. There’s always work, that’s for sure.”
Art grunted, and Lydia shuffled her feet. The cold air worked its way around her legs.
“Well, I’d best get moving,” Thad said, “if that’s okay with you.”
Lydia gave her father a reassuring smile. While Thad Miller might not be ideal in any Amish sense, it wasn’t like anyone was suggesting him as a marriage partner for her! This was a simple change of pace for a couple of weeks. She loved her parents and enjoyed her charitable work, but she did find herself getting quite bored these days.
“Drive safe,” Art said.
“Thank you. I will,” Thad said. “Lydia? You ready?”
Lydia went over to the passenger side of the truck, hauled the door open and hopped up into the seat. She had to push aside a black zippered insulated lunch bag. Her heartbeat sped up in excitement. This would certainly be something different to do, and she was looking forward to it. These days her only chance to get out other than her usual routine was when she went with her parents to service, or when she dropped off her crocheted items for those she thought could use them.
“All right, so we’re heading to the Knussli farm, out past the Aberdene dairy,” Thad said, passing her the piece of paper.
“Oh, yah,” she said. “Get out on the main road and head south toward the river. That’ll get us going in the right direction.”
“Okay, then.” Thad put the truck into Reverse, and she watched as he spun the steering wheel on the palm of his broad hand and the truck backed up, then they were heading forward again. Driving would never make sense to her.
“So you’ll be working around here?” she asked.
“I will be. Dr. Ted just hired me last week.”
“You’ll like this area. It’s a nice community.”
“Yeah, I think so.” He shot her a smile. “It’s nice to be employed, too. I’m looking forward to gaining more experience before I open my own practice. What about you? What are you aiming at?”
“Me?” She felt heat hit her face. “Well... I help people. That’s what I contribute around here. I’m not married, and I don’t have kinner, so I’m free to help where other people aren’t.”
“Like helping me?” he asked.
“Yah. Like helping you.”
“Well, I’m certainly grateful,” he said, and his smile warmed her middle.
But his question did probe at a tender spot inside of her. What were her goals? She’d always thought she’d get married and have some children, but that hadn’t happened so far. She liked to help others, and she truly felt like she was doing Gott’s work when she brought her crocheted blankets to shut-ins or new mothers. But she wanted to do more...help more. She just wasn’t sure how.
Lydia gave him the directions as they drove along—a turn here, a change of lane there. She knew these roads like the back of her hand. She’d grown up in this area, and she’d never gone farther than visiting an aunt.
“There—turn left,” she said.
The clicking signal light came back on again, and Thad made the turn. “Are you looking forward to Christmas?”
That old swell of bittersweet sadness flooded through her. She used to love Christmastime, and she still did, but Christmas was becoming a bigger and bigger reminder of the family of her own she longed for.
“I suppose so,” she said. “Are you?”
“I guess.” He shot her a grin. “I have a few nieces and nephews, and I get to spoil them a little bit. I enjoy it.”
“So do I,” she said.
Christmas, though, seemed to be for children. They were excited about the little gifts, and the time off of school. They loved the extra cookies, the big family meals, and the chance to play with cousins. And while Lydia enjoyed all of the family time, too, she didn’t look forward to the prying questions from aunts and uncles about eligible men, as if Lydia simply forgot about her lack of a husband and needed the reminder.
“Do you know how to drive?” Thad asked, tugging her out of her thoughts.
“Me?” She shook her head. “No!”
Thad’s eyebrows raised, and she found herself noticing his good looks again when he cast a glance her way. If he was less attractive, that question might offend her. He might live with all those Beachy Amish freedoms, but she did not.
“Do you want to learn?” he asked.
“I’m Old Order,” she said. “We don’t do that, either.”
It was far worse than shaking hands!
“I know. I didn’t mean for that to sound disrespectful to your way of life,” Thad said. “I’m only asking because we’ll be driving through the field to vaccinate some calves, and when we get to them, I need someone to distract the mother cow, and someone else to keep the truck close in case I need to jump in. The farmer usually distracts the mother cow for me, and I was hoping you might keep the truck close.”
“I don’t think I’m supposed to be doing that...” she said. Was she? She wasn’t sure.
“Well, someone has to,” he replied. “Sometimes it’s someone from the family, or a neighbor... But if there isn’t anyone else who can do it, I was hoping you might be willing.”
“Is it hard?” she asked.
“Not at all. Just...sit in this seat, press on the gas, and don’t run anyone over.”
A smile tickled her lips. “That’s it?”
“That’s it.”
It didn’t seem so hard, and she knew that Amish people helped out with motor vehicles in situations like this one. It wasn’t unheard of. But she’d never done it before.
“It should be okay,” she said. “You’ll show me how it’s done, though?”
“Of course.” He cast her an easy grin. “You might even have fun.”
* * *
Thad turned onto the snow-packed gravel side road, and he pulled closer to the side as another truck rumbled past. Lydia Speicher was exactly what he’d expected when Bishop Glick suggested she would be a good guide through these back roads. She was a prim, proper Amish woman who would never fall captive to his charms—if that was the worry. She was from a good Amish family, and she was devoted to her faith.
“Can I ask you something?” Thad asked as he stepped on the gas again.
“I suppose so.”
“Didn’t you try driving or anything during your Rumspringa?”
While his Beachy community didn’t practice Rumspringa, Thad knew that hers did. It was a time of freedom for the youth—literally translated, “running around time.” It was a time for teenagers to experience more freedoms so that when they made a choice for the church, it was informed and there were no regrets.
“No, I didn’t,” Lydia replied. “I got a job at a grocery store, and I stocked shelves. That was my great freedom—working in town.”
“Did you enjoy it?” he asked.
“No. Not especially.”
