Woodsmall - When the Heart Cries: Book 1 in the Sisters of the Quilt Amish Series

Contents

To the one man I never wanted to live my life without, my staunchest supporter, my closest friend: my husband. With you, life is more than I ever thought possible. Thank you.

To my two oldest sons, who believed in me. You sacrificed your personal time to help with the needs of the household and took great care of your younger brother so I could write. Thank you. You also have my gratitude for keeping my computers and Internet in good running order in spite of my best attempts at sabotage.

To my youngest son, the radiant energy to each day. You never doubted I could do this. When I needed humor in this story, your imagination came to the rescue. May you one day write the stories of your heart.

To my new daughter-in-law, who has helped in hundreds of various ways. Im so thankful youre now a permanent part of our lives.

And above all, to God, whose patience, love, and forgiveness make every relationship in my life possible. May I hear and respond to You and no other.

In loving memory of my mother, whose inner character always strengthens me and continues to make its mark on her descendants.

And to all daughters who navigate this ever-changing world, trying to find who they really are as a child of the King.

Acknowledgments

Id like to give a very special thanks to three women without whom this book and its sequels would not be possible: Miriam Flaud, my dear Old Order Amish friend, who opened her home, her family life, and her heart to this writing endeavor; Linda Wertz, who knows the Amish community well and opened doors for me, chauffeured me tirelessly whenever I landed in Pennsylvania, and never questioned if it would all be worth it; and Kathy Ide, editor, mentor, and friend. You in no way doubted that I could do this, even though you saw the roughest drafts of them all.

Id like to thank everyone who had a hand in making sure all fictional patients responded in ways that were medically accurate: Rebecca T. Slagle, BSN, MN, neonatal nurse practitioner; Kim Pace, RN, BSN, manager, NICU/Nursery, Northeast GA Medical Center; Jeffry J. Bizon, MD, OB/GYN; Terri Driesel, physical pherapist; Elizabeth Curtis, RN.

Thank you to my critique partner, Marci Burke, whose fast-paced imagination, problem-solving skills, and faithful diligence can get any author out of a writers block and back to work long before he or she is ready!

To Kathy Port, Kathy Bizon, Lori Petroni, and others who offered prayers and bits of time and creativity to various aspects of this project.

Thank you to Karen Kingsbury, who found time to reach out to me, even with a husband, six children, and a writing career.

Thanks to Deborah Raney, whose critiques, brainstorming, and encouragements are too numerous to list.

Thank you to Shannon Hill, who believed in this work from the moment she read the first chapter. Im so grateful for the privilege of working with you.

And to all the staff at WaterBrook Press. Youre absolutely amazing!

H annah Lapp covered the basket of freshly gathered eggs with her hand, glanced behind her, and bolted down the dirt road. Early morning light filtered through the broad leaves of the great oaks as she ran toward her hopesand her fears.

A mixed fragrance of light fog, soil, garden vegetables, and jasmine drifted through the air. Hannah adored natures varying scents. When she topped the knoll and was far enough away that her father couldnt spot her, she turned, taking in the view behind her. Her familys gray stone farmhouse was perched amid rolling acreage. Seventeen years ago shed been born in that house.

She closed her eyes, breaking the visual connection to home. Her Amish heritage was hundreds of years old, but her heart yearned to be as modern as personal computers and the Internet. Freedom beckoned to her, but so did her relatives.

Some days the desire to break from her familys confinements sneaked up on her. There was a life out thereone that had elbowroomand it called to her. She took another long look at her homestead before traipsing onward. Paul would be at the end of her one-mile jaunt. Joy quickened her pace. Her journey passed rapidly as she listened to birds singing their morning songs and counted fence posts.

As she topped the hill, a baritone voice sang an unfamiliar tune. The melody was coming from the barn. She headed for the cattle gate at the back of the pastureland that was lined by the dirt road. Beyond the barn sat Pauls grandmothers house, and past that was the paved road used by the English in their cars.

Paul used the cars of the English. Hannahs lips curved into a smile. More accurately, he drove a rattletrap of an old truck. Even though his order of Mennonites was very conservative, much more so than many of the Mennonite groups, they didnt hesitate to use electricity and vehicles. Still, his sect believed in cape dresses and prayer Kapps for the women. Surely there was nothing wrong with her caring for Paul since the Amish didnt consider anyone from his order as being an Englischer or fancy.

As Hannah opened the cattle gate, Paul appeared in the double-wide doorway to the barn. His head was hatless, a condition frowned upon by her bishop, revealing hair the color of ripe hay glistening under the sun. His blue eyes showed up in Hannahs dreams regularly.

He came toward her, carrying a pitchfork, a frown creasing his brow. Hannah Lapp, what are you doing, stealing away at this time of day? The whole of Perry County will hear thunder roar when your father finds out. He stopped, jammed the pitchfork into the ground, and stared at her.

The seriousness in his features made Hannahs heart pound in her chest. She wondered if shed overstepped her boundaries. Its your last day here for the summer. She held up the basket of eggs. I thought you and your grandmother might like a special breakfast.

He wiped his brow, his stern gaze never leaving her face. Grams awful mean this morning.

Worse than yesterday?

He nodded. Ya. A hint of a smile touched his lips. He often teased her about the word she used so much, threatening to tell everyone at the university about that word and the girl who used it. He knew her Pennsylvania Dutch pronunciation of the word as jah was correct, but that didnt stop him from ribbing her about it. As the slight smile turned into a broad grin, it erased all seriousness from his face.

Hannah clutched an egg, reared back, and mimicked throwing it at him.

A deep chuckle rumbled through the air. Cant hit anything if you dont release itor in your case, even if you do.

His laughter warmed Hannahs insides. She placed the egg back in the basket, huffed mockingly, and turned to cross the lawn toward the house.

This would be Pauls fourth year to return to college. Once again hed be leaving her throughout fall, winter, and springwith letters being their sole communication. Even that limited connection had to come through his grandmothers mailbox. Hannahs father would end their friendship with no apologies if he ever learned of it.

Paul covered the space between them, lifted the basket from her hands, and smiled down at her. So, wont your family be missing you this morning? Or should I expect your fathers horse and buggy to come charging into my grandmothers drive at any moment?

My Daed would not cause a spectacle like that. Hannah licked her lips, thirsty after hurrying the mile to get there. I arranged with my sister to do my chores this morning.