Lancaster Crossroads - 0.50 - A Simple Crossroads: A Lancaster Crossroads Novella

  A Simple Crossroads is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  A Ballantine Books eBook Original

  Copyright © 2013 by Rosalind Lauer

  Excerpt from A Simple Faith by Rosalind Lauer copyright © 2013 by Rosalind Lauer

  All rights reserved.

  Published in the United States by Ballantine Books, an imprint of The Random House Publishing Group, a division of Random House, Inc., New York.

  BALLANTINE and the HOUSE colophon are registered trademarks of Random House, Inc.

  All scripture taken from The Zondervan KJV Study Bible. Copyright © 2002 by Zondervan. Used by permission of Zondervan Publishing House.

  This eBook contains an excerpt from the forthcoming book A Simple Faith by Rosalind Lauer. This excerpt has been set for this edition only and may not reflect the final content of the forthcoming edition.

  eISBN: 978-0-345-54243-4

  www.ballantinebooks.com

  v3.1

  Contents

  Cover

  Title Page

  Copyright

  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

  Dedication

  Acknowledgments

  Other Books by This Author

  About the Author

  Excerpt from A Simple Faith

  Chapter 1

  July

  From the kitchen window, Lizzy King bit back a sigh as she watched the man she loved. Joe was yammering with his cousins, obviously telling a joke, because as he hitched his black glasses up on his nose, Adam, Gabe, and Jonah chuckled. A moment later, Adam pushed back his straw hat and pointed, and suddenly the four of them surrounded a table, picked it up, and moved it down the lawn from the blistering sun to a patch of cool shade. The whole time, Joe kept them laughing with his stories.

  A good storyteller; that was her Joe. A wonderful good husband, too.

  More than anything, Lizzy longed to be a good wife to him. This was their time to turn their small family of two into a big, loving Amish family. Every day she prayed that Gott would bless them with a child—with many children, down the road, but right now, just one would be a blessing.

  But so far, the good Lord had not seen fit to bring them a child. As Lizzy chopped carrots into bite-sized sticks she fought tears at the memory of how they’d lost their first baby. The sharp pain in her belly. Fainting at the market. The stark electric lights of the hospital.

  The doctors had Lizzy back on her feet in a day or two, but even months later, she still grieved for the little life that was once inside her. Folks who knew the details of her tragedy told her to trust Gott and He would heal her heart. She wanted to believe that, but the pain was still there, a nagging ache that deflated her hope. It was worse every time she looked around her and saw other women in their Amish community having babies. Ever since she’d lost the baby, it seemed that the sweet news of a child’s birth came to her daily, like so many seeds in a summer breeze. Whenever she opened the Amish newspaper, the birth announcements made her throat swell with sorrow. Last month, when Lizzy had tried to visit her cousin Dorcas to see her newborn baby, she’d left the house in tears. Now she made it a point to stay away from new mothers and their babies. It was one of the reasons she and Joe had begun to spend more time here, with Adam King and his family. Right now there were no married couples in the house—no infants around—and that suited Lizzy just fine.

  “Lizzy?” A firm hand touched her shoulder, and Lizzy turned to face the warm hazel eyes of Joe’s cousin Mary King. “I’ve never known you to be so quiet. Are you feeling okay?”

  “I’m fine. Just … watching our fellas out there.”

  At the mention of the guys, Mary peered out the window. “Did Five finally get here?”

  “Five” was the nickname given to Mary’s beau, John Beiler, when he was a boy and his hand-me-down coat was so large that five of his friends could fit into it. “He’s coming down the lane, there by the beech trees, and moving with a spring in his step. Maybe he’s caught a whiff of your shoofly pie.”

  Remy McCallister adjusted the dark, sugary pie cooling on the windowsill. “We all know that Five likes his pie, but it’s Mary who puts the spring in his step.”

  The three women chuckled.

  “I thought so.” Letting her own worries go, Lizzy was cheered by the joy in the women’s smiles. “So, tell me, girls, have you started planning the weddings?”

  “Wedding?” Mary’s eyebrows rose in feigned innocence. “Me?”

  “I saw the celery growing in Mammi Nell’s greenhouse. There’s enough to feed all the Plain folk from here to Paradise.” Everyone knew that an abundance of celery in the garden was usually a sign of a coming marriage, since so much of it was used at the wedding supper.

  “It sounds like she’s on to us,” Remy said with a sidelong look at Mary. “I know an Amish wedding is supposed to be hush-hush until it’s announced during church in the fall, but how do you keep it a secret when all the signs are so obvious?”

  “One of the many mysteries of the Plain folk,” Lizzy teased, thinking how much Remy had changed since they’d met in the market last winter. Back then, Remy had been an Englisher looking for Joe’s cousin Adam, but now she was living Plain and training with the bishop for baptism. Lizzy couldn’t remember a single other time when an Englisher had been baptized into their congregation, and it was certainly a big deal. Remy’s peach complexion and copper hair made her stand out among the Amish here, and some folks hadn’t really taken to her yet. But Lizzy knew that, given time, the Amish would warm to Remy’s big heart and strong sense of humor. And once Remy was baptized, even the most stern folk would need to accept her in their community.

  It was a “between” Sunday, a day of rest in between the Sundays when biweekly church services were held in their Amish community. Sundays were a perfect time for visiting friends and family, and on this hot July afternoon Lizzy and her husband, Joe, had decided to visit the dairy farm now run by Joe’s cousins—eleven of them, ranging in age from twenty-five-year-old Adam to two-year-old Katie.

  “I could live to be a hundred, and I’ll never understand all the nuances of Amish culture,” Remy said wistfully.

  Lizzy rolled her eyes. “Not when you talk fancy like that. But part of living Plain is learning to accept that there are many things we’ll never understand. Gott is the real mystery.”

  “Mmm. Wise words.” Mary stirred some chopped eggs into the big bowl of potato salad. “So you’ve guessed right about the celery, Lizzy. But what most folks haven’t figured out is that we’re talking about a double wedding.”

  Lizzy looked from Remy to Mary. “The four of you? That would be a whopping big wedding, all right.”

  “We figure the more the merrier,” Remy said. “That’s what happens when you marry a man with ten brothers and sisters. You get used to having people around.”

  “Amish weddings are big because we have big families.” Mary stirred the salad, then paused to beam a smile at Lizzy. “I remember when you married Joe. Was that four or five
years ago? I had just started my Rumspringa, and I paid close attention to every part of the wedding … the bishop’s words, your dress … and the cake! That was a tasty cake.”

  “You seem surprised,” Lizzy teased. Her family owned the bakery in Halfway, so the wedding cake had been easy to prepare. “With all the bakers in my family, I would hope we can make a good cake.”

  “It wasn’t just good. It was delicious.”

  “So you’ve been married almost five years, and no children?” Remy asked.

  Lizzy stiffened at the prying question. Remy probably didn’t realize that. She couldn’t have known that Lizzy’s good spirits sank down to her toes, leaving that familiar gasp of pain.

  “We’re praying that Gott will bless us with children.” Lizzy was glad to hide her heated face in the cool of the refrigerator as she searched for the lemonade.

  “Of course …” Remy stammered, flustered. “I—I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have asked.”

  When she closed the refrigerator door, Lizzy found Remy and Mary watching her, their faces awash with concern. “No need to feel bad. You don’t want to ask that of most folk, but here, with me, you can ask any question you want.” She put down the pitcher and took Remy’s hand. “You’re marrying into the family. That makes you family. And when I’m with my sisters, we speak our minds.”

  Remy squeezed her hand with a grateful sigh, as Mary let out a breath.

  “So …” Lizzy cocked her head, sensing hesitation in Remy’s doelike eyes. Ya, one bark of the dog and this one would bolt like a deer. “Anything else you want to ask me?”

  “Did you ever … I mean, are you allowed to talk to a doctor about fertility issues?”

  “Remy!” Mary gasped, looking toward the opening to the main living area to check for eavesdroppers. Usually the Kings’ farmhouse was bursting with little ones and teens, but in this heat, everyone had fled the hot building for a splash in the pond or a cool breeze in the shadow of trees.

  “It’s all right,” Lizzy insisted, patting the hand of the girl who was around the same age but from a very different world. Growing up an Englisher, Remy wouldn’t know that some things weren’t talked about. “I have seen a doctor, but not about that. Fertility drugs and such wouldn’t be allowed. Here’s what happened to me. Have you ever heard of ectopic pregnancy?”

  Chapter 2

  Why couldn’t love be easy?

  As Juanita Greco hung up her apron at Papito’s and headed out into the crowded aisles of Reading Terminal Market, she wished that she and Chris could meet without all this secrecy. How nice it would be to just grab smoothies together when they were both on break from work, instead of pining across the market at each other and sneaking into dark corners in the rare moments when they could be together.

  From her hiding place beside the flower stall, Juanita stared at the wall of blossoms and sighed. From up close, the petal bursts of yellow, orange, and pink daisies reminded her of the fireworks that shimmered inside her when Chris pulled her close. Every moment with Chris was a bright surge of joy, from the laughter that sparked between them to the warm glow that enveloped her whenever he glanced her way. Pops of color and fizzy light. Just like last night’s real fireworks at the Benjamin Franklin Parkway Festival—a stolen night alone with Chris. Yesterday was the first time they’d been able to spend a big holiday together and the night had been magical, though much too short.

  “You know I won’t rest until you’re home,” Mommy had said while Nita had been touching up her lip gloss, preparing to go out. “I don’t like thinking of you and your girlfriends out on the town on such a crazy night.” The girlfriend story had been Nita’s creation. “Please, I want you home no later than one A.M.”

  You’d think at the age of twenty-four, a girl could go out alone with her guy without a curfew. But not Juanita Greco, her mother’s baby. She was trapped in a large Puerto Rican family steeped in the old, protective ways of Latino culture. She had winced when she’d told Chris about the curfew, but he’d shrugged it off and it hadn’t put a damper on their night together.

  Two people, finally alone in the midst of a crowd of a thousand people—they had both been glad to get away from the market, where Nita always worried about family spies.

  The gathering was the biggest Fourth of July celebration in Philadelphia, with families, couples, and children milling around amid the smells of delicious foods and the sweeping beat of music. Juanita and Chris had shared memorable summer stories of cold lakes and Fourth of July backyard barbecues, of Phillies games and street festivals where the air was filled with spicy foods and salsa music. They had danced, slow and so close she could feel his breath stir on her neck. This was not like the fast, twirling dances Juanita had grown up with. For Chris, dancing meant holding her close and swaying with her in his arms, moving gently to a beat as timeless as ocean waves spilling and receding on the beach. Moving together, their bodies as one. In the thrumming celebration, Chris did not have to hide his feelings for her, and she had melted against him, content in his arms as colorful fireworks popped overhead in the night sky. Last night, in the balmy, crowded streets of Philadelphia, they had been free to dance and talk and kiss.

  But today, here in the marketplace, they had to be careful again. Granted it was a Sunday, and the shops were scaled back to minimum manning. That meant Chris was working with his cousin Lars and Juanita had only her sister Carmen, a mother of three who had met Chris and had promised to keep Nita’s secret. But you never could tell when someone else from Juanita’s family would pop into the marketplace.

  She checked her watch. Right on time, but where was Chris?

  Pressing closer to the glass, Juanita peered around the flower stand toward Schwab’s Swiss Deli. A couple stood at the counter, and Lars had his back turned as he worked the slicing machine. And there was Chris Schwab, honey-blond hair, high cheekbones, eyes as blue as a tropical sea. Excitement fluttered through her as, in one motion, he hopped over the counter and broke into a jog. With his long legs and arms, in full stride he reminded her of a tiger sprinting through an open field.

  Turning away, she quickly smoothed back her jet-black hair and added cherry gloss to her lips. “Hey, Smiley,” Chris said. He stopped a foot away from her, his blue eyes opening wide. “Did you miss me?”

  “Desperately,” she teased.

  He touched her cheek, then kissed her, sending delicious shivers down her spine. “Mmm. Sweet like cherry pie. So did you tell them? Did you get a chance to talk to your parents?”

  “That would have been impossible.” She hated the disappointment in his eyes, but she couldn’t help it. “They were asleep when I got home last night. And when Carmen picked me up for work, they were still at mass.”

  “Yeah, that’s what I figured. So I guess that means you have to do the obligatory Sunday dinner with your family and your fiancé.”

  “He’s not really my fiancé.” Juanita had never agreed to marry Pablo Enrique, her father’s protégé and partner in the downtown dance studio. Their pairing was one of those notions that had hatched over a family dinner a decade ago, when Juanita was just fourteen and Pablo had begun touring with her father. It was one of those “wouldn’t it be great if …” ideas that somehow had been mulled over so many times, it had become part of their family lore and Juanita’s destiny. “I never said I would marry him, and it’s not like we go on dates or anything.”

  “But your parents have high hopes.” He took her hand, turned it over and, one by one, uncurled her fingers from her palm. “And you have dinner with him every Sunday. Which is a commitment of sorts.”

  “A family commitment.”

  “True, but you’re old enough to be making your own commitments now.” He massaged her palm with his thumb, a tender habit he had developed when they were together. The gentle motion calmed her even as it seemed to connect them in an intimate way.

  “I know. You’re right.” She sighed. “I’m sorry. I’m going to talk to my parents … today
, if I can grab a minute of their time. It’s sort of hard, with Poppy and Pablo getting ready for a new tour. You know how artists are. You don’t want to throw off their rhythm.”

  “Yeah.” He squinted. “That would be a problem for a dancer.”

  She laughed, and the sparkle returned to his eyes. “I’ll talk to Poppy. I promise.”

  “Good. Because I think it’s time we got you free from the family prison.”

  Her sister Carmen had come up with that name, and Juanita had shared it with Chris, who liked the image of Mommy and Poppy as prison guards. Chris saw the comedy in it; he didn’t realize how much Nita was still swayed by her parents’ wishes. It would have been easier to break away from her parents if she had moved away from them. But Juanita still lived with her large extended family in the big house in El Centro de Oro, the Latino section of Philadelphia. Four generations lived there, from her grandparents to some of her nieces and nephews. (There was an old converted garage in the back where Nita’s sister Maria and brother-in-law Turo lived with their children.) At times, Nita loved the noise and the warmth of a dozen people gathered around the supper table. Other times, she craved privacy. The men were sometimes stuck on tradition and the women put their noses in Nita’s business. Her grandmother told her she needed to dress up more often, and Maria teased her that she’d better find a good man fast if she didn’t want to end up an old maid.

  “We’d better get back to work,” he said reluctantly.

  “You’re right.” She sighed, rising on tiptoes to touch a kiss to his cheek. “Don’t worry about my family. They’ll come to love you as much as I do.” Nita hoped that she sounded more confident than she felt. She worried that her family would never accept Chris, a Philadelphia native of Swiss-German and French descent. One look at his blond hair and blue eyes, and they would not even give him a chance.

  Chris grinned. “I’m glad. I don’t want to be in this alone. Though sometimes I feel that way.”

  She cocked her head. “Poor baby. When do I make you feel alone?”